


A Shadowed Path

by lostchildofthenewworld



Series: The Sun & The Light [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar Won, Anti Rhaegar Targaryen, Canon Divergence - Robert's Rebellion, Dark Magic, Dorne centric, Elia Fests, Elia Martell & Deria Sand (Deria Martell), Elia Martell & Jade Han (OFC), Elia Martell Deserves Better, Elia Martell Fanworks Week, Elia Martell Lives, Elia Martell-centric, Elia inspired by: Margaret Beaufort/Katherine of Aragon/Mary of Burgundy, Elia will be a queen, Epilogue, Essosi Empire, F/M, Great Moraq centric, If you are fans of either of them leave now this is Dorne return at your peril, Interludes: Jaime/Mehmed/Arthur, Jade Han (OFC) & Mehmed Han (OMC), Justice for Dorne, Justice for Elia Martell, Machiavellian characters, Mother Rhoyne, OC Male Inspired by history: Mehmed the Conqueror/Cesare Borgia/Jaluudin Akbar, Oberyn Martell Lives, POV Elia Martell, Politically savvy Elia Martell, Queen Elia Martell, Rhaegar Targaryen Being an Asshole, Rhaenys Targaryen Lives, Rhaenys will be renamed to Deria, Swords, anti lyanna stark, do not post on other sites, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:53:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 176,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22658122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostchildofthenewworld/pseuds/lostchildofthenewworld
Summary: The original heads of the dragon shared the same mother and father, so too must these new heads.Princess Elia Martell returns to Dorne after having her marriage annulled and being publicly repudiated by King Rhaegar the First of His Name in favor of his new wife, Queen Lyanna Stark.Dorne is at the precipice with their anger, the amount of disrespect shown to not only their beloved Princess but also to Prince Lewyn Martell who was slain in battle, not for his niece but for folly.It has always been said that Elia has a sweet wit about her, but her time as a hostage to the Mad King has taught her many things. For the past year she has learned to walk in the shadows of the Red Keep in order to stay the ire of the Mad King.Returning to Dorne is not the sweet girl that left it.
Relationships: Doran Martell & Elia Martell & Oberyn Martell, Doran Martell/Mellario of Norvos, Elia Martell & Jaime Lannister, Elia Martell/Original Male Character(s), Oberyn Martell/Original Female Character(s), Rhaegar Targaryen/Elia Martell (past), Rhaegar Targaryen/Lyanna Stark (minor)
Series: The Sun & The Light [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1576054
Comments: 1452
Kudos: 551
Collections: Elia Martell Fanworks Week, Southern Renaissance (Dorne Renaissance)





	1. Searching in the Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ramzes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramzes/gifts), [Trashforstuckyandgot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trashforstuckyandgot/gifts), [Failed_to_Deanon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Failed_to_Deanon/gifts), [witlessmaester](https://archiveofourown.org/users/witlessmaester/gifts).



> I've been cooking this in my mind for awhile, because I can't get enough of Elia Martell-centric fics. If you know me, you'll know I have the sweetest soft spot for Elia Martell, House Martell and Dorne in general. I recently watched Rise of an Empire: Ottomans, compounded with my love for military tacticians such as Mehmed the Great, Cesare Borgia and Jaluudin Akabar, I had to try my hand at inserting an OMC and OFC into Dorne and its politics. 
> 
> I spent the week scouring the map of Essos looking for countries I could base my OCs from. At first it was Mahraj but it was too small and what I have plan needs a bigger connection which led me to form the OCs from Great Moraq. For this story the Great Moraq will resemble the Ottoman Empire. Yi-Ti and Leng with be focused on the different dynasties of China. Considering that there is hardly anything on Great Moraq in the asoiaf wikia, I've essentially been given a blank check and believe me, I will be writing the hell out of it. 
> 
> To be honest this fic is a combination of things, a big issue is in spite for RL fics that make Elia some errand boy. Not on my watch. No god hunty. House Martell will be loved but they are also flawed, who isn't. Elia will not be some simpering girl, no she has been through too much for that and I won't do her an injustice by making her so. Elia will not be dark, but she has had her reality blown open, she is in a dark space right now given her current standing to everyone outside of Dorne. 
> 
> She is not happy, she is not bitter, she is just pissed. 
> 
> Last warning if you did not read the tags, if you like Rhaegar and/or Lyanna...this is Dorne return at your peril. 
> 
> Inspired by the "Spears of the Sun" by Ramzes, "Sunset and Shadows" By Ramzes, "Pray The Sun Will Rise" by Trashforstuckyandgot, "Brightest Sun" by witlessmaester and all the works that center on Elia by Failed_to_Deanon. A very big thank you to these authors who have written and are writing such great work, so much so that they inspired me with my first fic and now this one too. Thank you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some say the gods speak through the stars.

The cool breeze wrapped around Elia like a caress as she sat on the balcony overlooking the Water Gardens. Often, she had taken to sitting down on the cushioned bench and staring up at the stars, searching for something she did not know. When Elia had returned to Dorne, Oberyn had regaled her tales of the different religions he came across in his time in Essos. Some Essosi religions looked upon the stars, interpreting them as signs from the gods.

For the past eight moons Elia had hoped to find some answer within the stars, for her faith in the Seven was found to be lacking. If there was one god, she knew who was true - it would be the Stranger, so it was He that she prayed to most often these days. Elia felt like an outcast and she had been casted out, from the throne that should have been hers given it was what her mother, the former Princess of Dorne had agreed upon when she set Elia’s betrothal. An outcast everywhere but Dorne, for Dorne always welcomed its children home.

The Stranger was said to see all and to be a guiding hand to those who have died, so Elia prayed to Him for the passage of her uncle Lewyn and the rest of the Dornish soldiers who had perished in war. Elia had also prayed that should ever the time come before she was meant to die, the Stranger would stay His hand from Elia and her family, that He would not wrap them in His cool embrace and take them to one of the seven heavens or hells. Elia had even prayed for Robert Baratheon, the Martell’s Storm cousin who died for folly, it seemed that many a good men had died for two selfish people.

Elia wrapped her arms around herself, in the attempt at warmth as she enjoyed her last night in the Water Gardens before returning to Sunspear. Her brother, Doran had recalled her and on one hand she had been irritated and on the other she was glad. Irritated that she would soon be back into politics, glad that she would find herself busy than sulking in her own misery.

It allowed Elia to enjoy the quietness without having to divulge too much to her brothers. Elia has always been close to her brother Oberyn, with Doran not only being their elder brother but also a father-figure to reign in Oberyn’s fiery temperament. Elia had laughed when she was introduced to another niece, accounting for four from Oberyn and just one from Doran. Elia was happy that Oberyn was back from Essos, his banishment from the incident with the Yronwoods put behind them with the promise of Doran’s first son being fostered there. Oberyn had felt guilty for he knew Mellario had raged against the decision but eventually accepted it, saying that one of Lord Yornwood’s daughter would foster here, perhaps allowing their children to marry to settle the peace. Elia knew that Doran had been hard pressed to calm his wife and she had even threatened to leave back to Norvos should such a thing occur again with her daughter or future children. 

Elia felt like a different woman when she returned to Dorne, while she was born a Princess, Elia knew that now people used her story as a warning, a cautionary tale about mistresses and how much pain and danger they bring to the rightful lady. Lyanna Stark was called the Whore Queen and she supposed it would bring her some comfort if she was a petty woman, but really it only made her angry. She did not want the pity nor the disdain, for which she was glad she did not receive from her brothers.

Elia did not cry when she saw them again but she does remember the way her shoulders sagged in relief, the ship, _Princess Meria_ had sailed quickly from King’s Landing before porting in at the Shadow City before Elia was led by guards to the Old Palace. Elia knew that Doran had kept Oberyn here, for they both knew Oberyn was likely to kill Rhaegar and his new queen with his spear and poison. The relief she felt at being back in Dorne, in the Old Palace where her and Oberyn use to play had caused her distressed when they left the eyes of the court, she had crumbled in Doran’s arms, clutching at him desperately to make sure he was real before her very eyes.

Oberyn to watch as his only sister was reduced to tears and sobs, clutching at her elder brother as if she was a lost ship at sea, searching for somewhere to port during a storm. Doran had told her all would be well, that she would be a queen for it was what their mother was promised, it was what Dorne was promised.

Dorne did not forget, the slights they were dealt would be answered in tenfold, Oberyn had promised. Elia could only nod her head, raveling in the warmth of her brothers.

It was the first time in three years that she had felt safe and whole.

They had welcomed her back with open arms, kissing her and calling her daughter a Martell no matter what Rhaegar had done, to her, to Dorne, to them, to Deria.

Deria.

When Rhaegar had returned triumphant from the war he brought to the realm, he told her that the dragons must have three heads, that the original dragons came from the same father and mother, Elia had just stared at him, burying her fury within her heart. A part of Elia was almost glad she had miscarried the heir Rhaegar had sought just moons before the tourney at Harrenhal. Elia had not been well with recovery from Deria’s birth and with the stress of Aerys bearing down on her it became too much and so she had miscarried her child.

Pycelle said the babe had silver curls like his father, a part of Elia was pained at the death of her child but another part of her was almost glad she would not have to face the mirror of Rhaegar or Aerys.

Deria, who she had named after a ruling Princess of Dorne who returned the skull of Meraxes the dragon of Rhaenys. It seemed fitting in a way, that the name Rhaenys be stricken from her daughter and given the name Deria who had been named after Princess Meria, who told Rhaenys she should leave at her peril. Elia had hoped that this new name would appease her ancestors, that her daughter would be strong like the foremothers she was named after.

Rhaegar said his new dragons must have the same name as before, yet Elia remembered distinctly on her birthing bed with Deria that she did not want to name her daughter Rhaenys. A half Dornish princess named after the Queen who was shot down in Dorne? It was an ill-fated omen she did not want on her child.

Elia had swallowed as not only had her daughter’s name been stricken from her but also her last name. Rhaenys Targaryen once daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell, now Deria Sand.

Closing her eyes as she burned once more against the insult, only those outside of Dorne would dare call her sweet babe a bastard, but in Dorne she was Deria Martell, daughter of Elia of Dorne. That was enough for Dorne, but not enough for the rest of the realm. The farce of their annulment was made when Jon Connington said that her daughter was “too Dornish”, that Rhaegar was no where within her, he could not be the father. Elia had cursed Lord Connington that day, he always spoke to her with disdain and she would remember all his slights until she was able to return them. Elia was sweet, she knew but she was also the sister of Doran, the grass which hid the Red Viper. Elia would always be a viper of Dorne, no matter if people forgot – that she was sure of.

When she had been on her birthing bed, when Rhaenys, now Deria had been placed in her arms, Elia had studied her babe. Her sweet babe was Dornish through and through, Salty Dornish olive skin, Rhoynish curls with the Martell eyes shape and color. Her daughter was of _her_ , of Dorne. Elia loved her daughter fiercely the moment she held her.

Rhaegar had told her that he needed another, he needed a son before he even held their daughter while she lay sweaty and bloodied on her birthing bed; then Aerys had told her when Rhaegar presented their daughter that “she smells Dornish”. Inwardly Elia withheld her pride at her sweet girl, but outwardly she bristled at the insult as if Aerys great grandmother was not Myriah Martell, as if his grandmother was not Dyanna Dayne. How easy it was for them to forget that they had Dornish blood also.

The winds blew against her curls, as she tucked a few strays behind her ears, trying to still her thoughts about the past. It would do her no good now that she was in Dorne, that she would soon be remarried. Elia knew she could not live on her brother’s arm always, but she could only hope that perhaps the gods would be merciful and make this marriage a worthy one.

She had spent many days with her daughter trying to soak up as much as she could of her, happy that her babe had made it to her second year of life. Elia knew there was a chance that a new husband would not welcome her daughter and there was grief in her heart if she would have to part from her sweet girl.

It was why she stared at the stars, hoping to see something, anything that would guide her further but alas she did not know how to read the stars. The moon illuminated against the palace as she leaned back, turning her eyes from the stars to the moon. It appeared bigger tonight than the previous night and Elia wondered what that meant.

She knew her brothers were plotting and planning while she was away, Elia would soon join them on the morrow. Her time spent living as the wife to the Crown Prince and as a hostage to Aerys had taught her many things; how to talk and walk in the shadows and become aware of your surrounding always, watching the facial expressions as lords and ladies alike spoke lies, some more efficient than others. Living in the Red Keep was like a game of cyvasse to Elia after she gave birth to Deria. It was a dangerous game and the tourney at Harrenhal only made it worse, there were nights even now where she would have dreams of her running through the keep, trying to get to the nursery where her daughter slept and escape before Aerys called for their heads on account of Rhaegar.

Those dreams always left her in sweat when she would wake, at times she feared that her heart would thump so loudly it would surely leave her chest. The dreams she had of her time in King’s Landing were none too pleasant. Some dreams centered on sweet Viserys who she and the now Queen Dowager tried to shield from Aerys’ madness, the other dreams would be of her sweeping into Rhaella’s room after one of Aerys visits when he would brutally take the Queen. Elia would bring bandages and balms to help sooth her former good mother, whispering words of comfort.

It was a hell Elia wished to never see again, outside of Viserys, Rhaella and Deria the only other person she got on good with was Ser Jaime. It was easy for her to weep for the young man who first arrived, surrounded by the likes of Ser Barristan the Bold and Arthur, The Sword of the Morning – yet it was an awakening the young lion would not forget. Being forced to stand aside as a king rapes his wife, queen and sister. His white cloak was sullied before the year end as he came to terms with his new realty with Aerys as king.

 _The Red Keep changes those who inhabits it_ , Elia believed. Lord Tywin was much too glad to have his son released from the Kingsguard everyone knowing that his heir was nothing more than a hostage to keep Tywin in line.

Ser Jaime had been an unexpected boon as they would converse in the shadows away from Lord Varys birds and other things of bad ilk. For how could they not be friends, when their lives hung in the balance. Even now they exchanged letters though they were far in-between, it was a welcome action that made her affectionate for the young lion.

As she laid against the cushions, she pulled the shawl tighter around her arms, trying to bring some warmth to her. Elia could feel herself growing tired and she figured she ought to get all the rest she could now before putting herself back into the politics of Dorne.

The past eight moons had been a welcome respite, allowing her to dine on Dornish cuisine and enjoy the meals of her culture. Putting on the weight she had lost from her birthing Deria and the stress and danger of her time under Aerys. These past moons she could feel something growing within her, perhaps a newfound strength considering she left King’s Landing alive although disgraced.

Picking herself up from the seat, she made her way into her rooms, going over to the cradle which house her Deria, she rubbed her fingers across the smooth skin of her daughter, playing with her curls as she watched Deria stir before settling once more.

Elia smiled.

“How easy it is to sleep like a babe in a cradle. So safe from the world, my sweet girl,” she whispered before leaning down and brushing her lips against her daughter’s forehead.

Elia undressed and slid into bed, her long curls sprawling across the pillows and silks as she curled up onto herself, used to sleeping alone for the past year. Her hands were shoved between her legs for warmth and she faced her daughter’s cradle, trying to will herself to sleep.

Posted: 2/12/2020

Edited: 2/22/2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elia Martell's theme  
> Window by The Album Leaf.
> 
> This theme in my opinion focuses on hope, that when the storm passes the sun is there to shine once more across the fields. I love this theme for Elia because at first it comes across as bittersweet, but there is a promise of a tomorrow.
> 
> Check out these stories, centering on Elia Martell our Sun Princess!
> 
> Spears of the Sun link:  
> https://archiveofourown.org/series/195818
> 
> Sunset and Shadows link:  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/4201098/chapters/9490737
> 
> Pray The Sun Will Rise link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19793122/chapters/46860178
> 
> Brightest Sun link:  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/21566113/chapters/51415588
> 
> Failed_to_Deanon works:  
> https://archiveofourown.org/users/Failed_to_Deanon/pseuds/Failed_to_Deanon
> 
> For more Elia-Centric check out this collection!  
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SouthernRenaissance


	2. The Path Has Been Lit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are made between the Martell siblings. 
> 
> It turns out Doran is a great orator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first...THANK YOU! So many comments on the first chapters, and I was so happy to see such good feedback from you all. It is so appreciated and it made me very happy so thank you very much. (:
> 
> The first part of this chapter was fun to write, but the second part not so much lol.  
> Only because when Doran is speaking, I literally wanted to self-insert my rant of Rhaegar and that would not work in this story, lmao so I had to re-do his speech many times. I was satisfied with what I had.
> 
> I hope this chapter showcases that while Elia IS trying, those wounds are still tender and it will take time to heal.
> 
> I imagine Elia like Kevin from The Office when he spilled his chili and is trying to scrape everything back into pot, yeah that's Elia. Her feelings are all over the place and she knows it, hates it and is trying to make them disappear. But alas, emotions don't work the way we want them to.

Elia walked with grace through the Old Palace as she neared Doran’s solar, taking in the sight of the servants cleaning the palace in preparation for the guests that would soon be arriving the final day before moons end.

Areo Hotah, the captain of the guards for Doran nodded to her before opening the door. Elia walked as she studied the picture before her.

“Sister, it is good that you are among us once more,” Doran offered.

Mellario waved away a servant to begin pouring refreshments for their meeting. Oberyn was sitting, using a small blade to cut apart an apple, as he beckoned for her to sit.

“I am glad to be back. I feel…much better,” Elia straightened her gown and relaxed into the cushioned sofa as she took one of the offered slices from Oberyn.

“A year or so after you married and had Deria, I began searching for a suitable bride for our dear brother here. One who would not be cruel to his daughters and who would offer us trade. It has been in the works since Oberyn has returned from Essos during his exile.” Doran took a sip from his cup, as he stared at both her and Oberyn with something keen in his onyx eyes.

Elia did not answer, considering how quickly servants have been cleaning and how she has heard of the construction to the Sandship, she can only believe that they have indeed found a bride and groom. Given the pace of things, she could guess that these foreign royals shall be here in Dorne soon.

Elia took a deep breath, if Oberyn’s betrothed does not mind his daughters, mayhaps her betrothed would be kind enough to not separate a mother and daughter.

“For whom is to be the lucky bride?” Elia peered at her brother over the rim of her cup quickly swallowing the water to calm her nerves.

“The Imperial Princess Jade of Moraq.”

 _Moraq?_ Moraq was hardly known to Westeros, though it has been said to be the largest island that has ever been recorded.

“Moraq? No Moraqi has ever sailed to Westeros.” Elia was extremely puzzled by this, but she liked the mystery surrounding Doran’s statement.

“When I traveled throughout Essos, there was one kingdom – well empire now, that was hardly known – Moraq. From the information I have collected, it was once conquered by the God-Emperor Jar Joq of Yi-Ti before he passed the throne to his son, Jar Han. Thus, leading to the ruling family today. The Han family has familiar ties to Yi-Ti and Leng. Yi-Ti has trading ties to Braavos, Pentos and Volantis. You see the picture I am painting, yes?” Oberyn chewed on his apple, swirling his blade around in thought before continuing.

“I did not visit Moraq, for the Straits were close. It was said when Sultan Jar Loq went to war a hundred years ago, he seized Lesser Moraq, Vahar, Zabhad, Mahraj along with the Cinnamon Straits. It creates a border from the Summer Sea, Jade Sea and even the Straits of Qarth given their relationship. Six kingdoms all under rule of one man, the co-ruler and heir to the Moraqi throne, Mehmed Han. Sultan Mehmed rules with his father Sultan Mehmet still, though from my intelligence from my sources in Essos, he’s been taking on more duties for their empire.”

Elia was listening with rapt attention, she was always eager to learn especially considering outside of trading Moraq was hardly noted, especially by Westerosi.

“So, you see sister, the Sun Princess of Dorne, you shall be the Sun Empress.” Doran spoke in a clear voice, his lips twitching but Elia knew there was more.

“What else is there?”

“As you now know, the Moraqi Empire rules over six kingdoms along with having family within Yi-Ti and Leng, I find it fitting to withdraw Dorne from the subjugation of the throne. When Daeron the Good negotiated with Maron there were concessions made, when our mother negotiated with Aerys once more there were things that were promised. I shall see to it that Dorne is paid its due. We shall bow no longer to a dragon who used our princesses as shields, our prince and uncle was slain in battle while good Dornish blood nourishes the fields of war.”

The more Doran spoke, the angrier he seemed to be, the coolness that surrounded her brother was gone in this moment.

_Ah, there is that Gargalen temperament showing in Doran. It is most powerful in Oberyn for he is quick to anger, but Doran’s is like a building fire – slow and steady at first but consuming all the same._

Elia’s lip twitched at the news she was given.

The Seven Kingdoms would be no more, for the agreement that Daeron and Maron made was now voided based upon Aerys and Rhaegar’s actions. Elia also knew that Dorne would be taking nothing short of freedom once more, Dorne had paid a heavy cost and it would see its return.

“Where do I come in?”

Elia knew she was to be remarried, but she wanted to know more about the man she was to have. When Elia was betrothed, she did not know Rhaegar, only the whispers of a sweet Silver Prince. Elia’s relationship with Rhaegar was not one of love, but she had thought they were friends, partners and there was a foundation of trust and fondness between them.

_It was all lies, Elia. You know better now. Beauty can hide the ugliness within man._

“Within a moon’s time, the Moraqi Sultan and his sister shall port in the Shadow City. I sent out ravens last moon for lords and ladies of Dorne to gather here at the Sunspear for the message I shall speak,” Doran took another sip from his cup, while he turned his attention to the open door of the balcony.

_We are leaving the throne no matter of remarriage. If Doran stays his hand now, Dorne will revolt not only against us but also the throne. It is better if Doran leads us then allow chaos to be born._

“What is Princess Jade’s dowry?” Elia did not feel as though it was an ignorant question, but the grins she was given by not only her brothers, but good sister told her of something promising.

“As you know we have not had a fleet since Queen Nymeria burned her fleet when she arrived on the sands of Dorne. The Moraqi envoy that sent word to Norvos to Mellario’s family spoke of the Imperial Princess having a great love of sailing. So, her father and brother have gifted her 800 ships. Along with gold and jewels, the usual.” Oberyn spoke lowly but she could hear the mischievousness in his tone.

 _That is no dowry_ she snorted to herself. It is a gift under the title of one, no good man would send his daughter, a daughter of an island empire away with no fleet to protect her new home. It would seem as though this would be a beneficial agreement for all involved. Mellario brings trade agreements with Norvos, while her and Oberyn’s marriages bring Dorne into agreement with a good chunk of Essos.

_Mayhaps the gods have been listening to me._

Yet the thought of Deria swarmed her mind and it made her stomach clench, Elia did not dare ask her brothers of their opinion until she met her suitor in person. Her lessons in King’s Landing taught her how to look beyond the appearance of man, she wanted to see his character for herself, most of all she wanted her daughter with her always.

_Rhaegar had a pretty face and pretty cock, yet, it got me nothing but misfortune._

“When will you announce our withdrawal from the Iron Throne?” Elia knew she needed to find some gowns, for she was sure that Doran was going to put on a show.

“On the morrow. Everyone will be gathered, and I shall have thirty pages throughout the throne room to relay my words, I will also gather the common folk.”

 _It will be a show, indeed,_ it was a wryly thought as she offered up a smile to her brother. Doran steadily lifted his cup to offer up a toast – they all lifted theirs also.

“To Dorne.” 

* * *

Elia had chosen a gown made of Myrish silk, bold in red the color of the blood oranges she loved so with orange to accent it. She had spent an hour in front of her mirror, applying kohl around her eyes and using crushed achiote to paint her lips red. When Elia saw her reflection it was a stark contrast to who she use to see before, her face had filled out more with the gained weight, her black eyes seemed to disappear with the added kohl and she thought herself a striking vision.

A knock at the door tore her from her thoughts as she called out,

“Enter.”

Her good friend, Ashara enters her rooms, wearing a pale violet gown that brought out her eyes. Elia offers her a genuine smile as she noticed the lookover Ashara gives her. Elia pulls her friend towards her while they both sit on the bench in front of her mirror, admiring their reflections.

Elia’s beauty glowed, not blinding like Ashara’s did, however they made a good contrast to one another.

“How are you?” The words slip from her mouth as easy as a breath, but Elia would be a liar if she did not say she was concerned about her friend. It seemed cruel that they would both suffer miscarriages, but it appeared as though the gods had other plans for them.

“I have fared better days, but I shall be well once more.”

Elia had pulled Ashara’s hands into her own, offering as much comfort as she could. Elia wondered what pained her friend more, the loss of her stillborn daughter or the senseless death of the father?

There were nights when Elia can still recall the smell of burnt flesh, the burnt flesh of Rickard Stark as she watched his eldest son struggle, strangling himself in attempt to free his father. Aerys was crueler than Maegor, offering a longsword just out of the boy’s reach as he watched on in wicked glee.

She often wondered how one can be queen, stepping over the bodies of her brother and father. If Elia had to step over the bodies of Oberyn and Doran just to have a crown on her head, she would have gladly cut herself on the throne and sent Deria to her cousin Manfrey.

_There may be small mercies by the gods then._

Elia had lost herself to her thoughts when Ashara had tipped her chin up with her fingers, peering into her eyes, onyx meeting amethyst.

“How are **_you_** faring? What of Deria? I wanted to come as soon as you returned but I figured you wanted some peace before…well this.”

_Yes, how are you faring Elia?_

Some days were good days, when she would sit in the Gardens and watch the children play just as she used to do with Oberyn, Ashara and Arthur. Other days she would be reminded of the betrayals and no matter how hard to tried to banish them, they still appeared within her mind.

Elia had loved Arthur when they were just kids, sneaking off to sit and watch the waves hit the beach, collecting shells and stringing them together to make bracelets. But that innocent love was betrayed, for he had forsaken his vows to Dorne, to his overlord – Doran, to his friend – her. When he took the white cloak, she thought for sure they were still friends and close, that was just another lie she told herself. She often wondered which betrayal hurt more, the vows that were broken by Arthur or Rhaegar?

The idea that Rhaegar absconded in Dorne, Dorne of all places while Arthur was there and guarded him, it had pierced something deep within her that she could not heal.

“I am well Ashara, Deria is as always the sweetest thing. The greatest balm to be given, truly.”

Elia inwardly flinched, since when did she get so good at lying, at lying to her closest friend and confidant? Yet, how could Elia tell Ashara her true musings when she could not even tell her own brothers? Doran must have known not to ask, and he probably warned Oberyn to do the same, some matters should be laid to rest; no matter how often they tried to rise from their grave.

Outside of Jaime who saw it all with her, who could understand what was seen, what was heard, what was smelt? Would they believe the horrors she witnessed; days had happened when she almost thought everything was a horrible dream.

It was at night when she tossed and turned, did she believe herself a murderer. The Elia who had left Dorne with the hope of a happy marriage, of having her childhood crush and friend with her, that Elia had been smothered in her sleep – never to wake again.

There was one night when Elia had wept, not for the pain she was inflicted by others but the pain she inflicted on herself, she knew that the Elia she was before and who she believed herself now to be could not exist together. Elia did not want to be the same sweet girl, for she had gotten hurt and lost too much; but the new Elia, who maneuvered in the shadows away from even Lord Varys, she knew how to survive a tyrant like Aerys, to thrive in the harshest conditions just like a Dornishwoman should. It would not do to be the weaker version of herself, how else could she protect Deria, her family and Dorne.

_Let it go Elia, let it go. Please._

Those were the words of her better conscious, why does she pain herself thinking of things she cannot change. Elia took a deep breath and closed her eyes for moment, willing those thoughts back behind the door she held in her mind. Pushing everything away in order to clear her mind for the day ahead; she exhaled her breath and rose from the bench, straightening her gown as Ashara joined her.

The walk to the throne room was quiet, as her guards walked behind her and Ashara, when they entered Ashara left her side to stand with her brother Gerion and his wife Varianna the rest of the lords and ladies that were gathered in the great hall.

Her gown swished as she walked towards her brothers, Oberyn standing on the left of Doran while he was seated on his throne, the one with the Martell spear inlaid shrouded in gold, while the other throne was occupied by Mellario that was bearing the Rhoynish blazing sun. Both looked regal as they sat, what surprised her was the ancient crowns that adorned their heads. Mellario’s was the crown that Mors Martell had gifted his wife Nymeria, it had blazing suns throughout, spears piercing it. While Doran’s looked less pretty but sturdier, it was one sun and one spear, the spear being encrusted in rubies.

_So, it begins._

Elia watched as Doran waited for the hall to get quiet, no doubt allowing their guests to soak in the image that was in front of them. The three surviving children of Princess Loreza Martell and Prince Consort Maron Gargalen. With Arianne, the heir of Sunspear and Dorne sitting on her mother’s lap looking out onto the hall, eyes wide.

_We are strong, we are together._

It was a clear message for all to see.

Doran lifted himself from his throne, walking down a few steps, Elia felt her lips twitching, _how long did he plan this out? He can be charismatic when he wants to, for how else did he woo Mellario._

The door to the hall was open, the pages were spread throughout from the hall to the yards below to repeat Doran’s words.

“For many years Targaryen kings have tried to submit Dorne to their Iron Throne, it was only when Prince Maron married Princess Daenerys did we allow ourselves to swear oaths to their throne. We gave them Dorne in exchange for marriage, Dorne was given – she was not taken. King Daeron made concessions to Dorne, because we did not bow to the dragons.”

Elia listened as Doran’s voice droned through the hall, as she heard the pages repeat his words.

“When my mother, your Princess Loreza gained the betrothal of our princess to the former Crown Prince, we were promised many things. Another Dornish queen, for Dyanna Dayne never made it to her throne. We were promised my sister, your Princess would become Prince Rhaegar’s queen. Alas, she has not.”

Elia allowed her eyes to shift over to Oberyn’s as his eyes seemed to blaze the more Doran spoke.

“Instead he has shunned his wife, annulled their marriage and has forsaken her for some Northern girl. He had his marriage annulled, here in Dorne. Dorne! As if the insult was not enough to abscond in our homeland while our spears were taken for a war none of us benefited from, while our princess and her daughter was held hostage by a mad man. What did our Dornishmen die for? What did my uncle, Prince Lewyn die for? Aerys warned my uncle that my sister was to remain with him within the Red Keep. He used my sister against me to take our spears and our lives!”

Elia could hear the bitterness in her brother’s voice, but her mask was perfectly in place not giving away her emotions.

“When _King_ Rhaegar came back from war with the help of Dornish spears, did he crown our princess? No. He crowned his Northern Whore and made their bastard the Crown Prince. While he publicly repudiated Princess Elia.”

There were shouts now, as Doran raised his hands to calm the rowdy crowd. Elia looked and saw a pleased expression on Mellario’s face as she watched Doran walk stealthily on the stairs. Elia recognized it for was it was, pride.

“I say…I say Dorne received nothing but insults and slights. The time is now, to withdraw ourselves from the Iron Throne.”

Doran had stopped walking and stood on the middle of the steps, looking out onto the sea that was made of the people of Dorne.

“Dorne was promised many things and we have received nothing, no – this cannot continue, and I will not allow it. The torment my sister suffered while Crown Princess, the deaths of Dornishmen and a Prince of Dorne. No, Dorne **will** collect her due.”

Aero Hotah and their cousin Manfrey had brought the Targaryen standard out towards the boisterous crowd. They stretched it as they made their way out the hall, to show the common people, as Ricasso walked towards Doran with a torch.

As people gathered, Elia could see that Doran had raised the torch to set fire to the Targaryen standard.

The crowd began crying out different things, “For Dorne!”, “Prince Doran!”, “To the Spears!”

The breath that escaped her lips, it was a mercy as she studied the view before her, the crowd cheering at their Prince and shouts of plans to be made.

Elia thought she might stumble back, but Oberyn must have been watching her, for he slipped his arms through hers to steady her.

Oberyn leaned down and kissed the side of her head. His dark eyes studying her, _I wonder what he sees when he looks at me now._

“As we promised sister, it is done. Everything else will fall into place, believe our words.”

_The words of our House or the promises of vengeance?_

_But are they not the same thing, Elia?_

Elia could only nod sagely as she leaned against her brother, thankful for the support.

Posted: 2/13/2020

Edited: 2/13/2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As far as this posting schedule, I am on a roll but I do not want to burn out so perhaps, one post every thursday, maybe two if I double up on writing chapters. I am honestly just enjoying this and I find that using real life historical figures who i admire is making this easier than usual. 
> 
> Just know that I am dedicated to this story and wanting to see this through. 
> 
> Happy reading and writing!


	3. The Gods Mock Us All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unwelcome but surprising news. Negotiations are made and word will soon spread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was hard for me, because Elia's doubt are ringing and I had to convey her confusion but also make it clear to the reader so I hope I did that right. 
> 
> 40 some words short of 7k, I was tempted to break this into 2 parts but opted not to, this is probably the longest chapter I've ever written in both fics.
> 
> Just want to say, fuck yeah? All of #TeamElia and House Martell are in the comments and I get a real joy at reading ya'll comments. We just have to stan in perpetuity for House Martell and that's on period. 
> 
> Anyways happy reading and enjoy.  
> :)

Elia was awoken by sharp pains in her stomach and she uncurled herself from her ball, clutching at her stomach in attempt to soothe it.

“What in the name of the Seven…”

Elia had begun sitting up, the moonlight acting as a guide as she brought her legs to the edge of her bed.

Walking towards her balcony to allow herself to see in the moonlight, she looked down and her breath was caught.

“It cannot be…Pycelle said…”

_Moonblood._

Her hand trembled as she lifted her silk gown and brushed her trembling fingers against her sex, feeling the blood coat them. A groan slipped from her lips and she was glad she put Deria in the nursery with Sarella for the night, the disturbance she was about to cause would surely have woken her.

_The Moraqi envoy is set to arrive today, must the gods dare tempt me like this?_

Unbridled rage swatted through her as she grabbed the curtains and gripped them into her feminine fists, blood setting into the yellow fabric.

“My own body betrays me,” she gritted through her teeth.

Elia then ripped the curtains down, clawing at it like the pain that clawed at her within. _As soon as I find myself on sure footing, the gods mock me once more._

She should have known that such racket would not be missed by the guards stationed throughout the hall that housed the family apartments in the Tower of the Sun. A knock at her door caused trepidation to fill her, as her feet moved quickly across the pale marble floors.

When she opened the door just a crack, she was met with the worried face of Ashara, who wanted to rejoin her service as a lady-in-waiting. In the morning she was going to help Elia bathe and dress to accept the foreign royals, _the_ _moon is already starting to fade – it will be morning soon enough._

Elia opened the door more fully for Ashara before shooing away the guards lest they see the predicament she is in now and run to Doran or worse Oberyn and have them barge into her chambers.

“Elia, what is wrong?”

Elia watched in the faded light as Ashara took in the ripped curtains, walking towards the candles to allow some light to fill the room.

The rage was still within her, she did not know what to do to rid herself of it. It would not go back behind the door she had, where she housed all her woos and grievances. Instead it remained, almost dauntingly as she tried to clear her mind away, yet her hands still shook.

“My moonblood has returned, I do not understand – Pycelle said,” Elia felt like someone had put their hands on her throat and squeezed.

Candlelight filtered through the room and Ashara walked out the room, not even responding to hysteria before walking back in with a cup in her hands.

“I have ordered the maids to fetch a bath and water for you. Here, take a sip from this, it is a calming draught.”

Her hand had not stop trembling, but she reached for it anyway, drinking eagerly if it meant soothing the new fear, she felt crawl up her spine.

“Elia, I thought you would be gladdened by this news.”

Elia opened her mouth, but nothing came out, so she closed it again thinking of how to formulate her words.

_Mayhaps just because I do not understand, she may._

“You know when I birthed Deria, it took me six moons to recover for she took a lot of strength from me. It was during the fifth moon of my resting, Rhaegar kept talking about those damn heads and so he laid with me again. After the I miscarried and Pycelle cleaned me, he told Aerys and Rhaegar that my womb was scarred, mayhaps even barren. My moonblood had stopped coming.”

It did not need to be said between the women that without moonblood, a babe cannot be made for they both remembered their womanly lessons from their septa.

Before Elia knew it the words that she had held in began spilling out from her and she was helpless to stop herself. She cursed her weakness.

“Now, today of all days it has returned. I think the gods have some sense of humor that may be on par with Aerys. I had this planned, you know. Oberyn would marry the Princess and I would just remain in Dorne with Deria if the Sultan did not agree to me. I would have used my barrenness as an excuse. But now look,” in a moment where words were spilling from her mouth now a bitter laugh echoed through her chamber.

It was a laugh that had no mirth or warmth to it, a laugh that spoke of something dark and jaded within her.

_Did not the septas tell you that while we may plan, the gods may well laugh? They can only be having a joyous bout now._

Her plans had died before they even had a chance to bloom. It was not that she did not want to remarry, but there was safety in what she knew which was Dorne. She did not know the Sultan even if she wanted to judge his character.

Her judgement of Arthur and Rhaegar made her doubt herself even more. If she could not see their lies and facades, how could she see this Sultan’s?

_It would be like King’s Landing all over again. Taking off my Dornish clothes in order to make them accept me. Yet it did not work, no matter how much I tried to lose my Dornish drawl, the amount of gold I donated to the smallfolk – it was never enough._

“I was thinking if all else failed, I could just marry a widowed man with heirs already, so the duty did not fall to me. I just…” Her voice trailed off as she stared off.

_Just what, Elia? Once before you welcomed the thought of babes suckling at your breasts, now you cower at the thought. The gods are as merciful as they are cruel. Take it girl and be glad!_

Ashara had remained silent while she ranted and raved, the servants had come in with her tub, pouring in the steaming water while Ashara added her favorite oils to scent the water.

Elia allowed Ashara to help discard her bloodied shift and help her step into the tub, not minding the heat of the bath. Many days she had spent scrubbing her skin trying to wash away the dirtiness she felt from her time in King’s Landing.

_Shame does not wash away as easily as grime._

The anger that had settled in her heart reminded her of the stitches she would see on Queen Rhaella, but instead of a set of clean stitches, Elia’s was raggedly put together, but the wound remained infected. It was the shame that lay underneath tainting it.

“I was shamed because I could not give Rhaegar an heir, but now I have the blood. If for nothing else, then what has this all been for? Is Rhaegar as mad as his father or have I been tainted by Aerys' madness myself?”

What was the war for? Rhaegar went to the Stark girl for the children she could not give him yet now her blood has come. What would have happened had she still had her moonblood then, _would he still have run away with the girl?_

Would thousands had died? Would the spears of Dorne not have bled out for a war that was not theirs, only because their princess could not do her duty to her husband and give him what he wanted most?

The tears began pouring down her face as she asked herself these questions, these were the questions that silently haunted the back of her mind, now they were brought out to the open – Elia feared for the answers she would find.

Her sobs were loud and Ashara had stopped rubbing the cloth against her skin as she leaned forward and wrapped her slender arms around her.

“I do not know what the gods have planned for me, and I do not know what they have planned for you Elia. But I believe from great suffering must come great rewards, surely. Look at Queen Rhaella, her mad husband is dead, but the gods have seen fit to give her a new babe to love.”

“Did I get my uncle killed, Ashara?” Her question was spoken in a hushed tone, not having the gall to say it any louder.

The death of Dornishmen alone had brought her pain, but her uncle who had been sent to battle on the word of Aerys as threatened him subtly about her being a hostage to the throne? It may well have been lashes striking at her back.

It was shameful, that Dornishmen died in order to preserve her life when she struggled to give life to Deria and failed with her son.

Shame.

“Never utter those words Princess. I know that you know your uncle did his duty, if not for Aerys’ word but for you because who can say what those rebels would have done should they have ever made it to the capital. Prince Lewyn fought valiantly, never doubt that.”

The calming draught must have taken effect for her sobs had quieted, _it is the same almost day in and day out; I cry, I sleep, I stew in anger and I love my family. When will my tears cease?_

_I tire of weeping._

Elia nodded her head and she could hear her own sniffles as Ashara continued bathing her.

“This could have all be planned Elia. For whom is to say Rhaegar would not have taken that girl as a second queen anyway? She would have always been a threat to you and your power. Mayhaps, your fate is better this way.”

Elia’s head has fell to the rim of the tub, _I had not even considered that._

_I would have had to share my throne with that girl. I would have never been free of her. Would Rhaegar have sought to marry my daughter to their son? As if I need the reminder of the betrayal. Would I have been cast away to the darkness of Dragonstone instead while they lived happily across the waters?_

It was not the first time in these moons did she think the gods had small mercies to soothe the cruelties they gave.

“Small mercies indeed,” she murmured.

She sat in the bath, but she felt guilt swarm her chest. Here she was complaining about a man who she had not even laid eyes on, while Ashara’s love was strangled to death while she watched.

Shaking her head in shame she whispered out, “forgive me, I am being ungrateful and foolish.”

“Do not apologize Elia, I’ve been watching you since the day Doran withdrew us from the Iron Throne. I am glad to have you openly confiding in me again.”

A sigh was released from her plump lips as she grabbed Ashara’s hand and brought it to her lips to kiss.

“You are too good to me Ashara, even if I am in Moraq, all shall be well for I will have you by my side.” To know that she had one friend that stayed loyal and true, her heart warmed.

_If the gods deem it so, I can have my daughter with me too._

Outside of her prayers to the Stranger about the dead men who haunted her dreams, she prayed beseechingly that Deria would remain with her and safe from harm.

* * *

Her outward appearance showed just who Elia Nymeros Martell was, a daughter of the Rhoynish Princess Nymeria, as Elia was garbed in the traditional gowns of the Rhoynar.

Her gowns flowed like the river Rhoyne, with red, orange and yellow meshing throughout in harmony. Her nose chain sat against her skin softly, attaching itself from her gold nose ring to the dangling ruby earrings she wore. Elia had put the traditional House Martell marking on her forehead, representing the sun. Her wrists were adorned by gold bangles and her hands held different gold rings.

Doran told her she looked resplendent when she came into the throne room, everyone seemed to be garbed in their finest jewels and garbs as Ricasso heralded out the arrival of Moraq’s court.

“Your Grace, my lords and ladies.” The seneschal’s voice hung in the air as patterned footsteps could be heard, as if they were all walking in sync.

The very first thing Elia took notice of was the Sultan’s standard, it was a silver crescent moon, with a golden eagle on a black field.

“His Imperial Majesty, Mehmed Han, Sultan of the Moraqi Empire and his sister, her Imperial Highness Jade Han.”

Her throat constricted as she turned her eyes from the black field to the guests in front of her, slowly taking in the princess first, she did not dare to look at the Sultan yet.

_I’ve never seen a Lengii woman before, but I have heard of their descriptions, this one proves to be true._

Her face was smooth in its beauty, her eyes were brown, they reminded her of the cakes she used to eat as a child in the Gardens.

The princess had on a silver gown, that seemed to be cut into halves, one for the upper body and one for the lower. Her skirts had gold and black embroidery at the bottom of the skirt that began to form a line towards the embroidery at her waist. There was a gold chain that fell from her fitted bodice that covered the skin of her stomach. Her crown was a crescent moon that laid against her forehead, the silver standing out against her black hair, with a silver shawl resting on her head.

Her body was lithe just like hers, but her legs were longer, and she had a graceful neck too.

_She is beautiful, I am sure Oberyn is pleased._

Elia was sure that while she may have been looking over the princess – who she was sure studying Oberyn, another set of eyes were studying her.

Her gaze shifted and she met the eyes of the Sultan. His skin was not as tannish as his sister’s, but tan all the same, she took notice that he was tall, perhaps taller than Oberyn – _taller than Rhaegar at least._

While Rhaegar possessed ethereal beauty that at times unnerved her, Elia was glad to see that this man did not. He looked…handsome in a way Rhaegar was not, more thorough. More muscle and his height allowed him to tower over the men behind him.

His lips were full and plump with a trimmed beard and mustache. His hair was at a crossroads with red and brown and it reminded her of teak after its been settled for some days.

Elia could see his eyes taking her in and the small part of her wanted him to be pleased, _mayhaps if he’s pleased physically it will not be such a burden on either of us._

Ricasso then stepped back as he addressed the Sultan’s party.

“The Ruling Prince of Dorne and his consort, Doran and Mellario Martell. Next to him are his brother and sister, Prince Oberyn and Princess Elia Martell.”

It seemed like the court held its breath before Doran spoke with a sly smile on his face.

“We welcome you to Dorne your highnesses. After many years it is good to put faces to your names.”

The Sultan stepped forward and offered his right arm, which Doran grasped, and Elia watched as the hall erupted into cheers.

_I wonder how quickly this will spread throughout the realm._

Since her return from King’s Landing, Doran and Oberyn had been uprooting any spies loyal to the Iron Throne and those who answered to Lord Varys. When Doran had ordered Lord Ormond Yronwood to close the Boneway while bidding Lord Fowler to do the same in the Prince’s Pass. The only way into Dorne now was through the port of Planky Town and the port of the shadow city; unless someone was brazened enough to sneak across the desert then the Dornish sun and sands would be rid of them.

Their trade to the other kingdoms was slowed by royal decree of taxes against them but Dorne knew where to strike where it hurt most, their wines were now tax heavily to the other kingdoms, their sand steeds cost more also, along with their fruits that were made for cakes and sweets alike.

The bazaars in the shadow city and ports were now seeing heavy trade from their Norvosi and Essosi agreements.

She watched as words were exchanged before Doran dismissed the lords and ladies, with their purpose served; see what has happened and spread the word – Dorne has new allies now.

Oberyn offered his arm to Princess Jade, while Doran led them towards his solar where agreements could be made. Some of the Sultan’s party followed them, as their trek across the palace now began.

The Sultan had offered his arm to her and Elia took the time to quickly observe his face from a closer view, _his eyes are as pretty as his sister’s._ He had a scar on the side of his face that was facing her, she was tempted to touch it, for it did not look like the scars she saw her brothers don.

Her stomach felt knotted and she did not know if it was because of her moonblood or because she felt faint and nervous; she clutched at his arm before releasing it just as quickly.

“Your Majesty do you not feel weary after such a journey? I am sure these negotiations can wait until you and Princess Jade are well rested.”

Elia herself barely felt rested considering her tumultuous morning, she wondered if anyone else felt the same as her.

_I was not this nervous when I met Rhaegar, perhaps my weariness has settled into these bones. My marriage to him was warm at first but then it turned as bitter as our Dornish reds._

“We have had many days to rest once we passed the Stepstones. Besides, these matters should be dealt with in haste so that we may all sleep easier come night. I give my thanks though for your offered grace, Princess Elia.”

She took note of the accent the Sultan had but nodded her head in understanding, _if we can come to an agreement today on the betrothals, I would see this heavy burden on my head removed._

She could hear the children playing in one of the nurseries and if she could, she would fetch her daughter in order to seek comfort from her. When she was hostage to the Iron Throne there were many days where she would stay with her daughter all day and well into the night before collapsing from fatigue and doing it all again the next day. Deria kept her rooted and her sight clear when she maneuvered through the Red Keep, _mayhaps I just need a reminder of how to stand firm._

Areo Hotah opened the door to Doran’s solar and they all made their way in, settling into the seats while a servant began pouring refreshments before being dismissed by Doran. The room was quiet, and Elia finally took notice of the Moraqi guards; they were silent as if shadows following their sultan. They had silver mask covering their face with only their eyes being visible.

_They are fearsome._

They had two swords attached to their back, with daggers at their hips. When she felt those pitiless eyes stare over her, she wanted to turn away, but something stayed her nerves. _If I become their sultan’s wife, they will have to respect me, but I must also earn it._ Her father had to do the same thing when he became their mother’s consort.

The darkness of the guard’s eyes did not give anything away and it was only when Doran began speaking pleasantries did, she return her attention.

“I hope the winds were kind to your sails, we have been most eager for your arrival.”

Elia was pressed against the cushions in the spot where she usually sat in her brother’s solar, while Oberyn was lazily sprawled on a divan, drinking from his cup and peering at the sultan’s sister. Mellario sat proper as Elia did, paying attention to the conversation at hand. Lady Alyse Ladybright was sitting with their cousin, Ser Manfrey at Doran’s desk, with parchment and quill to begin taking notes of this meeting.

“Yes, the stars were read, and it spoke of good fortune in our sails. Please, let us begin these negotiations.”

Two men with rounded hats, copied the earlier movements of Lady Ladybright and Ser Manfrey as they sat at the spare desk which usually housed Mellario when she worked with Doran over the affairs of Dorne.

“Let us begin with the betrothals and setting a day, as mentioned before in our letters with your Norvosi kin, we seek the marriage finalized in three moons. Our astrologers believe that our gods will bless our double union with a sign – we would like to see it done.”

Elia felt herself still, it was the second time the stars were mentioned, and she hoped that this sultan was not obsessed with some damn prophecy like Rhaegar was or still is. She had no wish to see a man ignore her in favor of dusty books and fancying himself some bringer of dawn for men.

“As you know the original betrothal was for my brother Oberyn and your sister, Jade. Now it has been altered to include the marriage of yourself and my sister, Elia. Do you accept?”

“Yes,” was answered just as quickly as the question came. _At least he wants it, so there is that._

“Elia? Do you agree?”

Her stomached knotted again and the draught she had taken for the pains barely did anything as she stared at the man sitting across from her.

“Do you believe in prophecies, Your Majesty?”

Elia would not suffer another man who did, one brought chaos and ruin to the realm she did not dare to think about two powerful men who played into delusions. This world let alone realm could barely handle one.

“Prophecies are nothing more than words spoken waiting for something or someone to put it in action. I believe in my gods that walk under this world, for they punished themselves in their hubris to reign over all. Their words are written in the stars. That is all I believe.”

_Oberyn mentioned such religion as this, looking to the stars for answers – how will that prove truer than prophecy?_

The Sultan must have seen a look of doubt cross her face because he continued with a guileful expression, “the stars do not lie, Princess.”

“No, but men do.”

At that the Sultan burst out laughing, and she could not help but compare it to Rhaegar and even Arthur once more. It was not the musical laugh like Rhaegar’s nor even the haughty one like Arthur’s, this was deep and throaty as if Elia was a fool in court who landed right side up.

“In the letters, it spoke of your sweet wit. I am glad, for if I had a dull wife I would surely dig to my gods and seek removal from this life.”

At that, his sister laughed as well, an expression she knew all too well as a sister indulging their brother no matter their antics.

Her lips twitched and a smile played at her lips; _he likes that I speak my mind. I should not push him away, yet._

“I accept.”

* * *

They had taken a break from the negotiations for a noon meal, Elia had gone off to search for Deria and found her daughter playing with her cousins.

“Mama!”

Elia had bent down, her gowns pooling at her feet as her daughter tottered to her on wobbly legs. Ever since learning how to walk, her babe has been making use of her legs following Obara and Nymeria in their adventures.

Her daughter fell against her and she picked her up, holding her close to her body as she pressed kisses to her head.

“My sweet. What have you been doing while I have been away?”

“Play!” Deria had pointed to the toys thrown across the room and she walked towards her nieces, Arianne and Tyene who were whispering with one another. They were closer than a Dothraki khal and their horse, Oberyn had joked once.

“What are you girls doing?”

Elia had put Deria down, now she made her way back to Sarella who was looking at everything with curious eyes, _she will be more studious than her uncle Doran._ A chuckle escaped her lips as Arianne jumped up, “we were talking about the weddings! I want a new gown.”

Her niece could be haughty in her attitude, something she was sure she got from Oberyn.

“I am sure your father will get you a splendid gown Arianne.”

Tyene was not one to sit on the sidelines so she pressed herself against her aunt, “I heard the Sultan is very handsome, or so Nymeria says.”

At this Nymeria whipped her head up from her book and appeared embarrassed as she shouted, “did not!”

Which in turn created bickering and Elia could only sit on the divan and laugh as she was entertained by her nieces, for they all had the Gargalen temperament.

A servant came in with refreshments and snacks, allowing Elia to watch in peace as she nibbled on her fruits and nuts before having to go back to the negotiations.

_To be child again, what I would not do to run through the Gardens with Oby and Ashara, letting the wind blow through my hair and the sun kiss my skin._

* * *

“What of the Princess’ household, as you know she has a daughter, Deria.”

This was the topic Elia had feared from the moment she heard of the betrothals, she did not dare hope, but she despaired all the same for her daughter.

“I see no issue with this. As you know my sister and I are half-siblings, born of two different mothers but raised by Lady Mara, my father’s wife.”

Her chest heaved before settling and she looked up to find the Sultan staring at her, his eyes piercing and gauging, for what she did not know.

“I did not know you were half siblings,” Oberyn commented softly.

“My mother was a Lengii and YiTish, while Mehmed’s was a native Moraqi and YiTish woman. I believe we are cousins also.” The Princess seemed to be in thought as she thought of her familiar lines before shrugging her shoulders, “matters not, we do not care for bastardy. All that matters is the name Han. The Moraqi empire was once held by a son near bastardy ancestry, but the Han named survived. We care not for these Westerosi values that are placed on the lineage of children.”

The last bit was said with a sneer, Elia observed.

“Look at those Targaryen’s and the Blackfyres. In Moraq before the empire was created, a sultan would have a harem of women as his consorts with one as his sultana. When his son was chosen after a time governing his own province, he would race back to the capital and kill his brothers out of fear of opposition.”

_Kinslaying so blatantly?!_

This was the most Elia had heard Princess Jade speak, her voice was like honey though, her words were but edges to a blade.

“This was done for many years until Sultan Jadun Loq put a stop to it, for why kill family when you can all sit together and dine? He cut down the harem walls, opting for only one wife as to not give his sons reasons to kill their brothers. When the time came to choose his successor, he held council with the pashas and so his son Sultan Kurnan was chosen. He too followed his father’s example and took one wife, but he had a mistress who did not seek to learn her place. When she began whispering words into her son’s ears about usurping his brother, his own father sent one of the Shadow Guards to give him the gift of silk.”

“The gift of silk?” Both Doran and Oberyn asked at the same time, curious.

This caused the Princess to smile before she took a sip from her cup, “the gift of silk, it is a strand of silk that is wrapped around the next of an offender and they are strangled to death.”

 _Just like Brandon Stark_ she thought morosely.

“Do not be sad Princess, for there are consequences to actions are there not? To usurp a brother would be to threaten the stability of the empire, such behavior cannot be allowed. It matters not if you are the son of a sultan and his mistress, a pasha, or even a wife like those who schemed in the harems. The endurance of the empire is always the greatest concern, all threats to the stability will be put down and the men will be sent to our gods in the Underrealm for judgement.”

_The endurance of the realm…would the realm been better had someone killed Aerys the moment his madness was noticed? If someone had slipped him some poison so that he would not call the head of a lord’s paramount son?_

She chewed her lips in thought.

_Yes, it would have been better._

“That makes sense. All it takes is for one person to become greedy, to covet what is not theirs to have. Greed is a dangerous thing,” a personal lesson she knew. A man’s greed for a woman not his had caused needless deaths, no it was better to mine your own and keep away from envy.

“It is one of the sins of our gods, to covet and sow your heart in envy. It is why after the taking of Mahraj, Sultan Semul prayed to the gods to seek no more than what they have already given. Here we are now, prosperous and wise with our cousins ruling in Yi Ti and Leng. It is why the gods punished themselves to the Underrealm.”

It was this that Elia finally understand the picture that was being painted, their ancestry with Yi Ti and Leng ensured that someone of kin was always sitting on the throne, either in Yi Ti, Leng or Moraq. It was a corner of their own world, so long as the Han name survived it matter not who held the position, for they all looked out for one another because of their familiar ties. Should one threaten that, _then they must die_ , she concluded.

As detestable as kinslaying was taught, it achieved the goals that were sought. Rhaegar had slain his own cousin, yet he was king.

“To the topic at hand, your daughter is welcome to join you. When my birth mother died, it was the Lady Mara who took me to under her wings and guided me and became my mother in all but blood. It would dishonor her if I should repay her kindness to me in such as way towards you.” The Sultan stirred the conversation back towards the original topic.

The Sultan rubbed at his trimmed beard, his eyes never leaving hers and Elia felt suspicion nagging at her throat and so she voiced a question, “why?”

There were not many men who would accept this, a woman yes, for she would be living in her husband’s home but a man? That she did not understand and sought greedily to rectify it.

“I have shadow binders and warlocks on my council, I have the good fortune of housing many astrologers in Moraq who tell me of the stars and the words of my gods. I am a cruel to my enemies Princess Elia, do not doubt that. But to a woman and babe? I was taken from my mother to a province to begin learning how to rule at the age of five. Had it not been for the graciousness of Lady Mara, I do not know if I would be sitting before you today or a sultan at all. She raised me as her own son, my sister as her own daughter as if we suckled from breast. She would strike me if I found that I would be dishonorable enough to take your daughter from you.”

_Ah, so that is why the Princess Jade does not mind being a stepmother for her own stepmother was a good and gracious lady to her._

Relief flooded her body as she felt the cushions of the divan meet her back, a deep sigh escaping her lips.

“If it would please you – Princess, I have something you may find even more relief in.”

Immediately she was filled with nervousness once more, licking her lips as the Sultan called out, “Judar Pasha.”

The man with the crème rounded hat stepped away from his borrowed desk with a parchment in hand, before offering it to his sultan before returning to his seat.

Elia studied the Sultan as he looked over the parchment before leaning across and offering to her, their fingers met briefly but her eyes were eager to read.

It was written in Westerosi, though she suspected there was another one in Moraqi as well, it read ‘Imperial Princess Deria of House Han and Martell.’ It is legitimization for her daughter in Moraq and a castle for her own, should she remain there. Her daughter would not be forced to live upon the mercy of a man.

Her eyes immediately flashed to his, trying to gauge why he would do this, _he is making it easy for me to like him by giving me this._

Inhaling deeply, she reads at the bottom where it has been signed by both Sultans that sit upon the throne of Moraq.

_How can I say no or hate him, when he has given me my greatest desire? The gods once again prove themselves strange, allow my daughter to bastardized by the realm only to become a princess twice over._

“Thank you,” she whispered out hoarsely feeling her eyes water, but she was glad that no tears fell.

She passed the parchment to her brother Doran, who had a gentle smile on his face, obviously pleased that his sister was pleased with her betrothed.

Elia felt now was the time to speak up, so she steeled herself and blink away her unshed tears, “You may have possibly heard I had a miscarriage a year ago. It is true, Maester Pycelle told me I was barren, yet today I have received my moonblood.”

Elia did not feel like a blushing maid when discussing her moonblood, if the Sultan wanted heirs of his own, he may find trouble with her just like Rhaegar.

“As I said before, it matters not in Moraq, for we had near bastardy sultans before and it did not matter. Sultans send their sons out to provinces to learn to rule and guide, if pregnancy is not deemed so by the gods, I shall look to send out my cousins who bear the familiar name so that they may compete to win the throne. Besides, my sister and your brother may produce sons, and should they prove wise they may be considered for the throne as well.”

_It cannot be so easy. One day the world feels centered on my chest, the next everything is clear as the Narrow Sea._

Elia perhaps underestimated how the Moraqi felt about their empire, they would see it succeed no matter the cost.

“This is great news; I am sure my sister is quite relieved she will not be separated from her child. You are most kind, Your Majesty.” Doran spoke with all the respect he never feigned to give to Rhaegar, both him and Oberyn never wanted the marriage but their mother was set on seeing her daughter as queen.

“As we have spoken of the betrothals, let us speak about the economy and trade agreements.”

This was how the afternoon was spent, bargaining over trading agreements and costs of expanding the shadow city’s port in order to become a competing power with those in the Reach and King’s Landing. With 800 ships being brought to Dorne, they would need to be able to house them appropriately.

Of trade would be Dornish wines, sand steeds, blood oranges and glass to be sent to Myr to become stained glass to help build glass houses to produce some of the fruits and vegetables that grew in Moraq. They would also send Moraqi soil, so the food that grew in the empire, Yi Ti and Leng would soon grow here too.

Doran was most curious about rice, a type of grain that the Moraqi brought in for their evening meal that did not have any taste unless spices or meat was added to it.

“Since Rhaegar wants the Reach to tax their grain so heavily, it would be wise to replace it with this instead,” Oberyn had spoken, as he ate his fill of the sticky rice that was served on his plate with Dornish peppers and chicken.

Elia learned that the Sultan and a builder, Mumen Pasha had plans to see this grain grow, for all it needed was a flooded plain and to be dug in a specific way. There would be people that would remain behind in Princess Jade’s court that would see to it that these plans came to fruition and that the Dornish knew how to harvest the new grain, vegetables and fruits that would be growing in Dorne soon.

Elia felt herself getting tired, for the conversation was mainly between the Sultan and Doran, with Mellario offering opinions about Norvosi trade occasionally, before she dismissed herself to check on the children. Oberyn and Princess Jade had left, to where Elia did not know but a few of the Shadow Guards had followed their princess as she did.

Mayhaps she dosed off for she heard the Sultan announce that he would like to walk her to her chamber; with her eyes flashing open, she readily agreed, ready to bathe for the night and change out of her clothes. The palace was quiet with only soft conversations throughout as the day was finally coming to an end.

Her arm was slipped through his as they walked through the halls, servants bowing their heads in difference towards them, his guards following them silently.

Licking her lips, she asked the final question that had been pestering her, “you did not have to do all this you know? I am sure my brother is quite taken with your sister, now so more than ever for she will be kind to my nieces. You did not have to accept my daughter nor I, for I do not know if I will be able to give you a son. I do not understand why you are being so kind.”

Her voice was soft, but she was genuinely curious as to why he was making so many concessions towards her.

When they stopped in front of her door, he turned to fully face her, his eyes dark and searching.

“My astrologers looked at the stars many years ago, one man had fallen to his knees after he spent nights studying what he found. He spoke of how the sun and moon would be joined, creating a path for others to follow. I have been curious to see what my gods will for me before I join them in the Underrealm for judgment. Are you not curious about the stars and what they say?”

She recalled that night she sat on her balcony, wondering if the stars would tell her anything about her fate and what she was to do after everything had happened.

“I am,” she answered truthfully for there was no reason to begin this…relationship with lies. Too many lies had almost killed her before.

“Your daughter is young yet, her and I may well have the same relationship I have with Lady Mara. Tell me, would you have accepted me if I were to rip your babe from your arms? Would you dare allow yourself to come and mayhaps even love me?”

“No.”

This response was returned with a smile, that she noticed was becoming familiar to her after only one day.

“So, you see Princess, there is your reason. What good is a marriage if the two of us are unhappy and miserable?”

_At least this man sees with clarity._

“What reason indeed,” she murmured.

“I told you the stars do no lie and you said but men do. That is true, but not all men, Princess – not all men. Some men lie in order to cloak themselves in false relief, as do women. Let us be truthful to one another Princess, I find lies boring and they only create hatred.”

With this he lifted her hands and kissed the top of them, his mustache tickling her flesh before she bid him good evening, eagerly opening the doors of her chambers as she walked in – not sparing another glance at the man behind her.

While she waited for her servants to come and draw her bath, she stepped onto her balcony, once more taking care to study the night skies above her; her initial judgement of the man was smoothed by the acceptance of her daughter, she wondered what else she may find in his character.

Posted: 2/19/2020

Edited: 2/20/2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is my Pintrest for this story:  
> https://www.pinterest.com/mypenflowsofink/a-shadowed-path-ff/
> 
> From the fashion, crowns and art. 
> 
> I think next chapter will be an interlude, so I am debating between Arthur and Jaime. Jaime will be in the capital because Tywin is the Hand of the King. He still needs to learn his lessons and of course Tywin is going to teach him, but Jaime will also be teaching his father some things too.
> 
> Arthur...well there will be a reckoning for Arthur...eventually lol.
> 
> So at the moment its a toss up, whose musings would you like to read?
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and leaving kudos.


	4. Interlude: Jaime I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The young lion grows a mane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so much to do this week, so I wanted to go ahead and get this posted before I got bogged down. The updates usually come on Wednesdays or Thursday but this has arrived a little earlier.
> 
> Happy reading.

Sweat rolled off his back under the cover of darkness while he slashed at the dummy in front of him. Jaime could feel his brows crease in concentration as he hit his mark with all the tenacity he could muster, not caring that he could hardly see with the moonlight being shrouded by clouds.

He just needed to wear himself down, to tire himself out so he could sleep a little more than the night before.

It was an exhaustive method, but it worked all the same, he had taken Princess Elia’s advice about exerting all his energy before sleep, less he suffer horrors in his dreams.

How much time had passed he did not know, but when his shoulders felt like someone had set fire to them, he finally dropped the practice sword and stalked off towards the castle.

It was quiet, as he slipped into his rooms not bothering to stifle his yawn as he took in the bowl of water on the stand before stripping down out of his clothes, forgoing a tub.

Using the red linen rag, he dipped it into the water before washing his face and quickly cleansing his body. He could feel his eyes becoming heavy and so he quickened his pace, before tying some fresh trousers around his waist and crawling onto his bed. A soft sigh of relief escaped while he laid his head onto his pillow.

This was the routine he had settled in when he returned from King’s Landing after his father got him released from his vows. Now, more than ever was he glad of the power that his father had – if he had to stay in that white cloak, Jaime did not know if he’d become a kingslayer.

The way he felt about the new king, he did not believe he would be able to hide those treasonous thoughts from the other brothers of the Kingsguard.

When he was five and ten, he idealized the great knights of the Kingsguard, their white cloaks billowing out as they walked and guarded the royal family. Yet, even now he would never forget the brief look of horror on Elia’s face when Aerys accepted his place in the Kingsguard.

_She knew what I would be forced to do, if I had any sense then I would have asked her or mayhaps even the Queen Mother Rhaella of what entailed being a Kingsguard. For they would have told me based on the love Princess Loreza and Queen Mother Rhaella had for my lady mother._

It would not be the first time that Jaime regretted listening to Cersei’s words, gods he was such a fool then. Now at eight and ten, he felt older than his years; for he now knew why his father behaved the way he did. There was no time to deal with foolishness and idiocy, not when you did not have to so long as you had one thing, power.

It was power that allowed his father to turn his back on his former friend, the Mad King and retreat to his castle. 

It was power that he was able to join the rebellion late and get his heir dismissed from his vows.

It was power, that made King Rhaegar seek out his father in order to return the Hand of the King pin to him.

Now, after all those lessons that his father tried to instill in him when he was younger, did Jaime finally realize why it was worth it.

He had never felt so powerless than when he tried to help the Queen Mother Rhaella. As Jaime stood outside her chambers with Ser Jonothor Darry when he began hearing her screams, he turned to open the door only to be stopped by Ser Jonothor. Confusion had marred his face, as he was held back with his cloak scraping against the wall.

They could protect the queen from threats and foes, just not protect her from the king.

It was a sickening reality he did not want to partake in.

That night, that was the first night that Jaime felt the real weight of his cloak. It shamed him to don it while he watched men burned and his queen raped. All while doing nothing, because of the vows he swore.

He learned how to go inside himself, to pretend that he was no longer Jaime Lannister, but some ghost of a bard sung long ago. To become a husk of himself, it was the only way he was able to keep going day after day.

When Rhaegar had taken the Stark girl and the rebellion began; when his other brothers left on Aerys’ order to find Rhaegar, he was left alone. A boy who barely had his cock wet, ordered to secure the royal family.

The only time he dared to come out of himself was when he was with Princess Elia and the now named Princess Deria. Jaime knew that once before, Princess Loreza and his lady mother had hope for a match to be made between their children, but his father insulted them by offering up Tyrion who was nothing but a babe after her death.

In the shadows of the Red Keep when he was off duty, it was during those times that he thought if he and Elia had married it would have been a true partnership like his parents had. While Elia was beautiful, he did not see her in that way a man should his wife, but in a brotherly way he wished he felt for Cersei. It was not complicated and twisted, but simple and welcoming; they could have made it work had his father not rejected the offer.

He grunted, there would always be regrets that he would have in his heart.

He burrowed his head further onto his pillow, trying to will his eyes shut and to cease his thoughts.

_Even with the white cloak gone, I still feel the weight upon me._

* * *

Jaime sat in his father’s solar, with his uncles Tygett, Gerion, Kevan while they waited for their brother to speak. Cersei had been trying to get close to him ever since he returned, but he did not know how to speak to his twin anymore, not after those years with Aerys. He should have been stronger and not listened to her, but now he knew better.

“I shall be riding to King’s Landing to continue my duties as Hand of the King once more, Jaime will come with me in order to increase his knowledge on ruling. Kevan, you will remain here in my stead and rule in my name.”

Jaime saw the way Cersei perked up when their father mentioned King’s Landing, _gods I do not wish to go back._

But something inside of him pushed him to agree, because he wanted power. Never again would Jaime be so careless and powerless, watched as every day the light seem to fade from Queen Rhaella's eyes as she was forced to bear her king and brother; he had to watch his good friend, Elia be disgraced publicly. Then to have to watch her daughter be stripped of not only her first name but also her father’s name had almost dropped him to his knees.

It was when he would return from guarding Aerys did he seek out Elia and Deria, for Deria was the kindest babe and she made him miss Tyrion even more.

“Father, what about me. You told me you would see me as queen.”

At this, Jaime could not hold in his scoff, _sweet sister – you will never be queen._

The scoff that escaped his lips did not go unnoticed by the men in the room, especially not by his father who looked at him with piercing gold flecked eyes.

“Is there something you would like to add Jaime?”

_I have a lot to say father, but do you care to listen?_

“Cersei will never be queen.”

Jaime had spoken with finality and he saw the look of betrayal in his sister’s eyes before it morphed into anger.

_I must protect this family, if we tie ourselves to the throne. We lose. That is clear to me now. I remember my lessons._

* * *

**King’s Landing, sometime after the Battle of the Trident**

Jaime watched in silence as King Rhaegar returned triumphant from the battlefield, with a retinue following behind him. He saw his sworn brothers with the new king after Aerys had finally cut himself on the throne during one of his deliriums.

What surprised him was seeing Lyanna Stark trailing behind King Rhaegar, he was confused for Brandon Stark had said she had been taken against her will, _what is she doing here?_

Ser Jaime stood beside Princess Elia, as King Rhaegar gave her a brief greeting before wanting to discuss matters in the King’s solar.

While Princess Elia and King Rhaegar spoke, Jaime noticed that none of the Kingsguard dared look at the princess, nor did Lyanna Stark. Her eyes purposefully ignoring the Dornishwoman in front of her. It was then that Jaime noticed a bundle in the girl’s arm.

_Gods, what in the seven hells has happened?!_

When Princess Elia came back from her meeting with the King, with him escorting her back to her chambers did he find out.

She beckoned for him to follow and when he closed the door behind him, he saw her crumple, her legs giving out and he barely made it in time to catch her before she hit the floor like the sack of bones that she was.

The stress of living with Aerys did not afford them the luxury of keeping weight and good health. To Jaime, it appeared the stress had finally caught up to her.

When he looked down as he held her, he did not see any tears streaming from her eyes, but her body was trembling as she leaned into him. He wanted to ask, but they had both learned long ago to not ask questions of the other if they were not prepared for the answer.

He watched in silence as she tried to stand up, using his body as a crutch to help her do so. He noticed that before she looked filled with despair now it was resignation.

“I am to return to Dorne.”

His head whipped back, not understanding why.

Mayhaps he said it out loud for she answered him just as quickly, keeping her voice down into a whisper for one never knew if the Spider was listening.

“The _King_ has seen fit to have our marriage annulled, he will declare our daughter,” she takes a breath in order to continue, “ ** _my_** daughter a bastard.”

Princess Elia had escaped his arms, she walked around, but he could see the anger in her eyes, the same anger that had been in Prince Oberyn’s eyes when King Rhaegar had passed his sister for the Stark girl.

_It is easy to forget that she is the sister of the Red Viper, but times such as these prove to be a good reminder._

When he thought about what she told him, he felt his stomach drop at the realization. _It cannot be, not after everything she’s been through, what of Queen Mother Rhaella surely, she will not be pleased by the severing of her granddaughter from her family._

For Jaime knew Queen Mother Rhaella was the only one who would hold Rhaenys, for Aerys liked her not.

Princess Elia walked back towards him, her eyes frantic as she took in his face, offering him a smile that seemed more like a grimace.

“He annulled our marriage in Dorne. Dorne, Ser Jaime. Then he married her there. In my own homeland. What have I done to deserve this humiliation? For I know not. He married her, he married her over the bodies of my uncle and fellow Dornishmen.”

The words escaped her lips in a hoarse manner, and he fidgeted trying to process all that was being spoken to him.

Jaime watched with dedicated attention as she shook her head in disbelief, he wanted to offer her some words but what could he say?

He did not dare utter a word, for he knew she just needed someone to talk to just like how he spoke to her of Cersei.

When he had told her one night in the darkness of the nursery, she had laughed softly with sad eyes and said, “my husband is the son of a brother and sister. Had my son lived, Rhaegar would have married Rhaenys to him. I am the least to judge Jaime, you are a good friend in these dark times. I am grateful that we share each other’s confidence.”

It felt good to not let something like that reside in his heart alone, for he finally had someone to confide into that was not his sister, but instead a person who was like a sister. Who did not judge him but kept him company when his thoughts were dark and full of sorrow for the vows that he was sworn to.

The Princess gathered herself and steeled her nerves, and then did something she had not done before – she reached for his hands, her hands felt warm to the touch he noticed.

“Listen to me Jaime, take one last advice from a friend?”

Green orbs met black, and he nodded his head slowly.

“I have no doubt that Lord Tywin will be here in order to see you released from your vows, do not fight him. Jaime, this place, this place is not a place for people like you and I. There is a part of me that is glad my son died, for I fear that if he sat upon that throne, the madness would taint him. Leave this place behind and take up your rightful place.”

Her eyes looked around the room, as if they would be interrupted but weariness had been hammered into their bones.

“Did you know at Harrenhal, he wanted to overthrow his father? Instead he helped cause a war, a war. I was barely out of the Stranger’s grasps when he came to me while I lay sweaty and bloodied fighting off death and told me he needed the three heads of the dragons. Prophecy. It was all for a prophecy. Now tell me good ser, is this not madness?”

Her eyes searched his, he struggled to answer before he thought on her words more. The realm had bled for a mere prophecy. _I cannot believe it._

_And yet…_

What prince would assign a boy who has barely gotten his blade wet with blood to guard his family? What son would leave his mother to the madness of his father as he raped her almost daily? What prince would forsake his vows of marriage for a girl younger than the knight he assigned to guard his family? What prince would not send back the Kingsguard with orders to help secure his family once he won at the Trident?

Was it madness? Why forsake your marriage to a princess in her own right, for a girl who has not even come of age yet?

Jaime swallowed audibly, “yes, I do believe it is.”

It made no sense, but the moment Ser Jonothor told him to stand aside and to allow the Queen Mother to be raped, everything stopped making sense to him.

The princess leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. Her eyes were soft once more, “I must thank you ser. For you are a true knight, for keeping me company and offering companionship during these dark times. I thank you. Be well Jaime.”

He watched in silence as Princess Elia offered him another smile, this one gentler than the first one she had given him when she first entered her rooms.

He notices that while she may have crumpled onto him when the doors closed, she now walked with the spear of Princess Nymeria in her spine. Her face in an implacable mask, as to not give the lords and ladies of the court any reason to shame her further.

It is not the first time that he believes her house’s words are fitting for even in the face of repudiation and humiliation she remained, unbowed, unbent and unbroken.

Jaime let himself out of the room, as he walked the haunted halls of the Red Keep in thought.

* * *

Jaime had retold his family of the words Elia had given him, they had discarded their titles in private, there was no need to hide behind their masks with one another. He could only hope that whatever bride his father sought; he could escape his mask with her too.

“Rhaegar is mad, not as mad as his father but even you remembered Aerys before his time at Duskendale. Before it was said Aerys was charming and charismatic. The same could have been said about Rhaegar before all this mess, but now? His madness is not like Aerys’, his lingers softly underneath but it is there all the same.”

Those were bold words coming from the mouth of the young lion, but he did not care. His admiration for knights and the once prince has long since faded like a sandcastle when it meets the tides.

Jaime stared at his father, he knew that his father was thinking over his words, trying to rearrange his pieces in order to best serve their house. However, there was a look in his father’s eyes that he could not describe as they gazed at one another.

_The lessons father taught me were harsh, but Aerys’ were cruel. It was either learn or die._

_Here I am._

Jaime turned his attention to his sister, he could see his uncles looking at his father, wondering what he would say next in response to his son’s harsh judgement of their new king.

“It was said that Aerys wanted our mother, can you imagine if it had been Cersei held hostage in the Red Keep instead of Princess Elia?”

The mention of the dead king’s infatuation with their lady mother made his father’s eyes turn cold, yet Jaime continued never breaking eye contact with his sister hoping she would understand what he was trying to save her from. Jaime wanted to love his sister in the way he respected Elia. There were so many things he had done wrong, that he just wanted to make right.

“Once Aerys sent the Queen Mother and Prince Viserys away, when he would burn men, I would often catch him staring at Princess Elia. His eyes would be wild before he would sneer at her. The only safety Princess Elia had to keep herself from being forced under Aerys was that she was Dornish. He once taunted her, saying if Rhaegar left her behind why should he himself bother with her.”

His uncle Tygett sneered in disgust, mumbling words of “depraved men”.

“I love my family; I love my sister and brother. I do not wish that on you sister. This new king deludes himself with prophecies. You deserve someone who would not leave you to the madness of their father.”

_Someone who can love you the way you should be loved, for I cannot love you like how we once were._

His father stood from his seat, his hands behind his back as he walked around his solar, not once voicing his thoughts.

Feeling as bold as the roaring lion on his doublet, he continued.

“The realm bled for Rhaegar and that girl, the Targaryens only have the Reach as true allies. Rhaegar has disrespected Dorne, it would not surprise me if Doran and Oberyn are plotting in their deserts. We all know they will never fight outside of Dorne, if it came to it. The men Rhaegar will send will simply die in the deserts or be pierced by spears as its always been with the soldiers of Dorne. The Stormlands? Robert Baratheon rightfully rebelled when Aerys called for his head, thinking his betrothed was taken against her will was only a uniting cause with the North. Only to find out now, that she was not even taken, she went willingly. The North is barely stable under Ned Stark’s rule, a second son not prepared to rule, the only man of the rebels who was not sent to the Wall. I have heard that the Boltons are conspiring against the Starks, as their usual. How many Notheron men died for that Stark girl? The Eyrie and the Riverlands? Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully sent to the wall, where surely they will die frozen.”

Jaime knew he was painting a vivid picture; the realm was torn apart and he did not believe there would be any relief any time soon.

The cost that Rhaegar and Lyanna made the realm pay was a heavy one, where once Rhaegar was the Silver Prince now no songs were sung of him. Lyanna was called the ‘Wolf in Heat’ and Jaime had only laughed when he heard it.

When he returned to Casterly Rock he had committed himself to his swordplay and studies.

What he could not solve with his sword, he would solve with his words.

“It seems our nephew has finally grown up,” his uncle Gerion japed.

Jaime felt himself cringe.

_Yes – if you had to grow up under Aerys, your view of life would change too._

His father eyed him once more, his eyes scrutinizing him, but Jaime only hoped his father would see the error of his ways and stop pushing Cersei for the throne. It would not happen.

“Father, you and I both know that the Targaryens will have to award the Tyrells for their loyalty. With the new _prince_ , I am sure should Lord Mace Tyrell have a daughter, she will be wed to the dragon.”

Jaime knew there would be no royal matches for House Lannister, he also knew how much the Queen Mother tried to shield Prince Viserys from his father, he did not doubt that she would seek to keep him away as a pawn for his brother to pay off his debts to the realm. Aerys had left one final gift for his wife, a new babe that had come to be born during a storm. There was no doubt that Queen Rhaella would not give up her children for her eldest son.

He heard his father deeply sigh, before he nodded his head, as if he came to some conclusion.

“I shall have Cersei marry Ser Addam Marbrand, he is a loyal knight to our house.”

Cersei looked as she was about to argue but shut her mouth, as their father glared at her.

_He should have never encouraged her delusions about being queen. Mayhaps this way, his sister will remain in the Westerlands with their family and be spared a mad man._

“Now we must seek a bride for you Jaime.”

Jaime already knew the kind of wife he wanted, he hungered to have another person to confide in, to understand the troubles that warped his mind. 

“I want a wife like how my lady mother was for you. The Westerlands needs a strong lady to be by my side, I shall not suffer for anything less.”

This was new, him being bold and demanding. For so long he had to simply agree with what he was told, when he returned home, he made a vow to never do so again.

He spoke with his chin up, daring his eyes to meet his father’s own. To his family it must have come as a shock to see the once cocky Lannister boy, to become a man grown, with haunted eyes and confidence not born from his name but for what he survived.

Since his lady mother died, it was rare to see his stoic father ever smile.

Yet when his father matched his stare, Jaime could see his lips twitch and his eyes shining in approval.

* * *

It was no surprise that Jaime found himself in the council chamber, where members of the small council all sat at the long table discussing matters of the realm.

Jaime was standing behind his father, the Hand of the King. Lord Jon Connington was the master of laws, Lord Monford Velaryon held the position of master of ships, Lord Varys remained the spymaster while the master of coin was given to Mace Tyrell. The Grand Maester Pycelle and Lord Commander Gerold Hightower keeping their positions they had before the war.

The king was seated at the table, directly across from his father as the master of whispers began talking in his silky voice. _Gods I hate that man…if one can even call him that._

“It appears as though Dorne has closed the Boneway and the Prince’s Pass, from what I know from the lords of the Reach. Nine moons ago, word reached me that Prince Doran has searched for betrothals for Princess Elia and Prince Oberyn.”

Jaime watched the king to see if he would even flinch at the name of his former wife, he did not.

“The Dornish are rebelling? Why is that not surprising,” Jon Connington sneered.

It was no secret to Jaime of the words the red headed lord spoke against Elia before she left, and how he always talked down toward her when he got the chance without fear of rebuke.

“Royal betrothals to be exact.” The Eunuch continued ignoring the Stormlander.

This got his father’s attention as he raised a golden eyebrow, “is that so?” he drawled.

“Yes, The Sultan of Moraq and his sister, the Imperial Princess Jade.”

If Jaime was not in this council room, he would have thrown his head back and laughed, but alas he could not – instead keeping his face impartial just like his father did.

“When are they set to arrive Lord Varys?” The king asked, as he stared at Connington.

_Interesting, why so irritated by your friend?_

“At the end of this moon, Your Grace. As of recently my contact with my birds has been…disrupted somewhat.” The Spider had the nerve to look abashed, but Jaime could only assume it was embarrassment as Dorne had finally snuffed out his spies.

_Well, what did you expect them to do? Keep the peace with the throne when their princess was discarded like the shit in Fleabottom?_

“Yes, invitations to House Baratheon were sent, along with an invitation to House Lannister for Jaime.”

His father had been surprised when an invitation had arrived, but Jaime knew it was for him. He had no doubt that Prince Doran remembered the slight his father dealt with the insult of trying to match Tyrion to Princess Elia all those years ago.

It was also smart, for no one could accuse the Lannister of treason because his father sat as Hand, while Stannis Baratheon had the watchful eye of Connington lording over him.

“Perhaps Jon can travel with Jaime to Dorne,” the king has spoken.

If he tried to hold in his laughter before, now it threatened him as he looked incredulously at the men at the table.

_Yes, send the man who all but called their Princess a whore to Dorne, by all means._

If Lannisters always paid their debt, then no doubt Dorne’s history ran long also.

“Are you sure that to be wise…Your Grace,” Tyrell looked flustered at the very idea. You could always count on a Reachman to hate the very idea of Dorne.

No, it was not, but that would not deter the king from his stupidity, Jaime knew.

It was then when his father spoke again, “perhaps it is best to leave Dorne alone, the realm is still bleeding. Dorne has stopped trade and raised their taxes for their goods. We should hope to gain some favor by not trying to peer into their sands.”

It was sound reason, why bother the viper when it has made itself comfortable. The Crown was only asking for more trouble than naught.

“What do we know of the Moraqi? It is not often that gossip of them travels to Westeros.” For whatever reason the king seemed peeved.

A snort was withheld as he inwardly rolled his eyes, _what did he expect Elia to do? Live on her brother’s grace forever? To never find a worthy suitor for her hand?_

“The Empire of Moraq is ruled by the Han family, since Jar Han inherited the throne from his father the God-Emperor Jar Joq. The Moraqi Empire has Yitish and Lengii ancestry along with Moraqi. It has a long history.” The bald man spoke in his silky voice, but Jaime saw the look that had passed between the king and Connington.

A family descended from God-Emperors, an empire that had familial alliance with Yi Ti and Leng, not to mention trade agreements throughout Essos.

A burst of short laughter passed from his lips, but he masked it with a cough.

No one in Westeros could say Prince Doran was a foolish man, for if Jaime could figure it out then he was sure his father had.

Dorne had trade with Norvos because of the Princess Consort, now they had an alliance with a major empire. House Martell was a Great House of Westeros, but now they were securing their independence through vows. With the bastards of Prince Oberyn, it would be no doubt his seed would latch quick.

Dorne would be secured no matter if Princess Elia was barren, Prince Oberyn would have his bride with child by the beginning of the new year, Jaime would wager.

“I want Ser Jaime and Lord Connington in Dorne by the time of the wedding. I expect news, since Lord Varys network is now disposable in Dorne.”

Jaime had to fight off a sneer at the king’s command, as if he wanted to sail with the Stormlander. It was dangerous to invite a man who once insulted a Princess of Dorne at every turn.

_Surely, he sees that._

This is one of the problems Jaime had with learning the game of thrones, the motives behind people’s actions. For some it could be greed, riches or some warped sense of honor, while for others their reasons remained unknown.

He did not like those kinds of people, he did not like the King.

King Rhaegar spoke of decreeing taxes, let Dorne starve and they shall come back to the Crown with the Reach allied with the dragons.

The small council had been dismissed and Jaime and his father began walking back towards the Tower of the Hand, their footsteps the only sound within the halls.

As they crossed through the Maidenvault they were met by the Queen, holding her son in her arms, Ser Barristan and Ser Arthur trailing after her.

The Young Lion looked at the Sword of the Morning, he could see the disappointment in those eyes, Jaime could care less.

He did not understand how a fellow Dornishman could see his princess be treated so, Jaime had thought that when he left his white cloak behind, Ser Arthur would follow suit and return to Dorne.

He was wrong.

It was not the first time he saw Lyanna Stark, before she had looked wild and free at Harrenhal, now she looked subdued.

 _Was it worth it?_ He wanted to ask, but he did not really care for the answer, for what happened has happened. It matters not if it was worth it in the end.

He barely bowed to the Stark girl before continuing with his father.

He would not give up what was more than necessary to some girl who up jumped a princess and walked over the threshold of dead men for a crown.

When he first saw the new crown prince, Aegon, and gods what a thing to name your new son after your dead son, he saw no Valyrian features in the babe. Mayhaps it would not have been so bad had the boy been born a girl, but as the Crown Prince it would work against the child to have no markings of his father.

His father had agreed with him, part of the reason of wedding a dragon was to get their markings.

 _Mayhaps the Roses of Highgarden may seek a green boy from the North then,_ he snorted at his thoughts. 

Entering the solar that was housed in the Tower of the Hand, he watched his father sit down in his chair, his head leaning back before he opened his mouth, “what did you think of the council meeting, Jaime?”

A new occurrence also, after every council meeting or any meeting his father had, the Old Lion of the Rock would question him and allow him to voice his thoughts.

“I believe sending Jon Connington with me to be a mistake.”

“Why?” His father immediately demanded.

“You know Connington has never liked Princess Elia. When the king was looking for grounds of annulment, Connington all but called the princess a whore, because Deria did not look like the King.”

“Neither does his son,” his father deadpanned.

The laughter that had been sitting in his throat finally spilled out, Jaime did not think much of the gods, but surely, they had a way of mocking men.

Just as rare it was for his father to smile; it was also rare for Jaime to be heard laughing now since shedding of the white cloak.

It felt new to him in an odd way, for he knew his father had not meant to jape.

Jaime shrugged his shoulder, pouring a cup of water before looking up and offering his father some.

“I am glad you do not partake in wine. It dulls the senses.”

He brought a cup of water over as he observed his father shuffling parchment, signing off items that needed the Hand’s approval.

“Let us hope that Connington will err on the side of caution while in Dorne.”

_Do you not realize that his life is already forfeit father?_

Sitting down on the cushioned wooden chair across his father, he remained silent – not having any other words to speak.

“I may have found a suitable bride for you,” his father interrupted his peaceful musings.

That was quick.

“Who?”

“Denyse Hightower.”

_A Hightower?_

Surprise was written across his face because his father sighed just like he used to when his son did not understand a question when he was younger.

“Soon the Roses will have their vines in King’s Landing, with Dorne independent from the throne, the Iron Islands silent, the Stormlands still angry towards the new king and queen, we ought to secure ourselves.”

With that, his father began moving his quill – leaving Jaime to his thoughts once more.

Posted: 2/24/2020

Edited: 2/27/2020 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final semester of undergrad, just want to say school sucks. While I LOVE learning, I hate feeling like I am in a pressure cooker. So instead of this being released on Wednesday or Thursday like normal, I had to post today because I have to write a 7 page literature review for one of my courses. The last thing I want to do is go from academic writing to leisure writing, it gives me whiplash. 
> 
> Hope everyone had a good weekend. As of late I go out to brunch with my older sister and her wife, we have brunch and bottomless mimosas so I am aiming to get all my academic writing down this week so I can get buzzed on Sunday lmao.
> 
> Also, I am rewatching 'Three Kingdoms' on Youtube, if anyone is still disappointed by the final season of GoT, I highly recommend Three Kingdoms. Zhang Liang and Cao Cao are the ultimate trolls. This series had the budget of 1 season of GoT for 95 episodes. The writing, acting, cinematography and pyrotechnics are wonderful. I love history, so this is very relaxing and entertaining to watch. 
> 
> Here's a great Margaret Beaufort documentary: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e3qER3Z3QyA
> 
> She was such a bad ass, whew you gotta stan!


	5. Those Who Are Bold, Take What They Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue, lots of dialogue. Some bitter and some sweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been enjoying some Elia fics, on here and FF.net. Also, why the hell is FF.net interface so shit? Jeez, its so ugly like WHY, who coded that. Also why is the app so bad? Ugh, thank you ao3 for having a good code for your site. 
> 
> So Elia/Harry Potter, Elia/Ned, Elia/Brandon has some good stuff in those tags. Check it out.
> 
> Happy reading and happy writing.  
> :)

“Mama.”

Elia had lifted her head from where she sat at her desk, she had been writing a letter to Jaime in congratulations about his betrothal; she had wanted to finish before she met with the Sultan, Elia looked at her daughter as she rounded the desk towards her.

“Yes, my love?”

Her daughter was not shy, not by any means, if she wanted something then she would seek to have it for it was her nature.

“Where is grandma?”

The ink pot near her was unsettled, as she recovered quickly to keep it from spilling over her parchment.

Why she tried to be surprised at her daughter’s intelligence was a folly for her, because it was now time to try to tell her daughter in the most sense that this journey away from her former home, was not just a temporary thing.

It would not be the first time that her curses towards Rhaegar would be sent to the gods to hear and snicker at.

“Your grandmother…is back at Dragonstone,” she stated hoping to appease her three-year-old daughter.

“When will we see her? I miss Vissy and I wish for them to come and to bring Balerion!”

 _Of course, it would not be so easy, I was a fool to hope so._ She sighed, putting down the quill in her hand, as she leaned over, picking up Deria to settle in her lap.

Her teeth immediately begin to gnaw at her lips, as she shifted her daughter so that their eyes would meet.

It would be left to Elia to make her daughter understand the changes in her life, it was a worry that followed her, her thoughts always being how would Deria understand, what it would do to her daughter’s confidence to know that her father did not care or love her enough to keep her or her mother. To be so quick to discard his first-born in favor of a girl who could hardly count for a woman.

_A woman’s burden is heavy to bear._

“Deria, my love. Oh, my sweet girl.” She leaned forward and kissed her daughter’s forehead, smoothing out her curls that were getting longer as the weeks went by.

It broke her a bit, for such an innocent question will be met with a cruel answer.

“I do not believe that you will see your grandmother again.”

_I mayhaps will not see her either, oh Rhaella I hope you are well._

Because for all the disdain and hatred she felt for her son, she bore no ill will towards his mother and brother. It was not just Rhaegar that she had been severed from, it was also to the sweet woman and boy she held close to her heart.

Elia had thought to write a letter to Rhaella, yet she did not dare to be so bold. There was a space within Elia’s heart that had been made for Rhaella after her own mother died. Considering her mother and Rhaella were such good friends, it was a boon to have her mother’s friend as a good mother. Elia knew that if this was hard on her, it would possibly be worse for Rhaella and little Viserys.

“Why mama?”

She could feel her lip tremble, as she tried to force the words pass them.

_Why? That is a question I wonder too, my sweet girl._

“Deria, your father and I…we have…separated,” it sounded like a question and not the statement that it was, but she ignored it. Wanting this to be easy for her daughter and to make her understand, that while her father had discarded her, her mother would not and never would. That Elia had gained legitimization and a castle for her own, that her daughter would know that her mother would always work tirelessly for her benefit.

Elia looked into her daughter’s eyes, hoping that for all her daughter’s quick wit, so much like her own, that she would understand her words without the need of elaboration to spare not only herself but also her mother of their reality.

“But why?”

_Because I could not give your father what he most sought, because while I may have loved him, he could not bring himself to love me._

Her lips puckered while her throat constricted, trying to swallow the bile that dared to rise as her stomach felt so unsettled.

“Your father and I, we no longer loved each other. So sometimes, when people are unhappy, they go their separate ways.”

_I do not know if he ever loved me, for he was so quick to crown someone else his love and beauty, to cast me aside and to set a war upon the realm. No war has ever been waged for me, besides the one that has settled and grown dark within my heart._

“Did papa not want me? Why did I have to go too?”

Elia could see her daughter’s eye well up with tears, so she clutched her closer, letting her head rest against her heart, like how she used to when Deria was just born. Letting the thumps of her heart settle her daughter like words sung could not.

“Your father, he is a difficult man to understand. But you are wanted Deria, do not doubt that.”

It pained her because her daughter could not even call Rhaegar her father, for she was forsaken, thought to be a bastard by some Dornishmen, because nothing Valyrian could be found in her.

Her daughter grasped at her curls that sat over her shoulders, before peering back up at her. There were no sniffles from her daughter, but she could see the pain in them, oh how she wished she could take it for herself, to spare her daughter the pains of this world – for she would do it gladly.

“Nymeria said, she said that there is a man that you will marry.”

_Oberyn’s daughters gossip more than Mellario and I._

Her daughter stared at her, and she wondered like she did with Oberyn, _what does she see when she looks at me? Will she blame me, for her father discarding her, for not being able to love her as a father should?_

“Will he like me?” The question was whispered, as she watched doubt settle on her daughter’s face.

Elia knew that the Princess Jade had been spending time with Oberyn’s daughters, as of late. The Princess had dual swords, that she saw her use in the training yard, sharp but with a woman’s wielding in mind. Obara had been eager to see if her future stepmother was as good as a warrior as her father. The fact that the Princess Jade had spent some time in Asshai and learned alchemy, made for conversations with Oberyn and Tyene. Elia felt sad because she thought her father would have loved his future good daughter, if he was still alive.

“Everyone who meets you, loves you.” It was not a lie; her daughter was easy to love with her light laughter and easy smiles.

“Am I staying with you?”

Elia did not think her daughter realized what she meant, but Elia knew as any mother would. The question that lay underneath that seemed too advance for her young daughter to think of on her own, _will you leave me like father?_

“Always, always Deria.”

If Rhaegar had sought to keep her daughter, then Elia would have put Oberyn to task to find the best smuggler to bring her daughter to her. Elia would not allow herself to be separated from Deria, not when she almost died to bring her into this world. Only the Stranger would have to come when she was just as old as the Crone, after she has spent her life watching her daughter grow up and be secure, only then would she walk with the Stranger and be separated from her daughter, nothing more and nothing less.

Her daughter solemnly nodded her head, and put it back onto Elia’s chest, as Elia rubbed soothing circles on her little back, letting her bathe in the comfort that only mothers could provide.

A soft song began to leave her throat, flowing pass her lips, as she sung it in the language of the Rhoynar.

‘So softly, Mother Rhoyne carries her children.

The current is but naught a soothing presence.

The winds carry songs in whispers,

of Mother Rhoyne’s love for her children.

Do not fear, she whispers to them.

For I shall never leave you,

as you swim upon this river.

Know that your Mother sees.

I shall be the wind that caresses you,

when storms dare to pass and cause you trouble.

I shall be the sunlight,

when the paths before you are too dark to bear,

when you are searching for a way home

with nothing to spare.

Do not fear my children,

Mother Rhoyne does not forget.

All shall be well, before your lifetime is spent.

Stay with your Mother, for she loves you so.

So softly she carries, her wayward children home.’

* * *

Elia walked through the palace halls, wearing some Moraqi clothing that mirrored Dornish tunics and trousers, with her riding boots echoing through the halls.

The Sultan had wanted her to meet him in the stables, after he sent her a gift of riding clothes. The fabric was soft, a deep red tunic, with black trousers to go with her boots.

When she arrived at the stables, she noticed how it was empty except for the Sultan’s Shadow Guard, that was placed throughout, keeping watch over him.

As she neared towards the stalls, she could hear the horses neighing as she watched the Sultan for a moment, as he brushed a steed, that seemed as black as a pot of ink. It neighed again as she got closer. She thought it odd that he would not have stable boy or stable hand do this for him. However, when she looked closer at the steed, its coat shone from the attentions its master had given.

She watched as he brought himself up from full height, she also took notice that he did not wear his usual flare of royal clothing and doublets, but instead a grey tunic with black trousers.

“I appreciate the clothes that you sent, they are quite comfortable Your Grace,” it was not simple flattery, she had been given rolls of fabric and silk in preparation for her wedding gown.

She had decided to put the plentiful dyed silks to use, as her gown this time would be in the Rhoynar fashion. Ever since leaving King’s Landing she had been pulling more gowns from the Rhoynar fashion into her wardrobe. It made her feel strong, as though she was borrowing strength from her warrior queen foremother.

“May I not be Mehmed and you be Elia?”

 _Mehmed,_ she tasted the name on her tongue.

Elia licked her moisturized lips and nodded her head. He lifted one of his hands and offered it to her. Gently, she placed her hand onto his, getting a brief feel of the smoothness but also the ruggedness of some callous from possible swordplay.

“This is Nuray, it is Moraqi for ‘radiating moon’. I thought it fitting.” He laughed before he lifted her hands to the massive horse in front of her, while it stared at her with pitch black eyes and long eyelashes.

“She is my favorite steed, my mother gifted her to me when I took the throne. In Moraq, if there is battle, we often fight in the evening, allowing the moon light to be our guide. When I don my armor and ride, it is as though I am nothing more than a shadow, a darkness ready to converge upon my enemies.”

It was a massive horse, it showed Elia that the horse’s owner had put this horse to work, with the sturdiness she could feel as she ran a hand over their mane, that had some braids adorning it.

“She is beautiful. Mehmed,” she truly was, so black was she. Elia could almost picture it all; the man in front of her, with his black armor leading his men into the darkness with only the light of the night’s sky guiding them as they kill their enemies.

Mehmed walked closer, almost standing behind her as he leaned down, his hand joining hers as they petted Nuray.

While he did not face her, she was glad because after a year of being on her own when Rhaegar went to the battlefront and since returning to Dorne, she has not been this close to a man. It rattled her, how she felt so beside herself at his presence.

“Will you follow me Elia, I have another gift for you.”

As he did before, he offered her his hand, and she gazed into his eyes, nodding her head as she studied his face. More often than not, she was studying and silently judging him just as she was sure he was doing the same to her.

His turban was gone, his teak colored curls looked as though they had been mussed by his hands, as some curls lay against his forehead while the rest looked disorderly.

Her lips twitched as she followed him to the next stall, _this is the first time I have seen him looking so disheveled._

Some days he would ask to take her on walks, around the palace and once they had traveled into the bazaars, buying fruit and cakes to eat as they walked and talked to one another.

When they arrived at the stall, she saw another steed, this time though it was red, with a black mane, with gazania flowers tied to the braids that were littered throughout its mane.

“Oh,” as Elia stumbled forward, leaning in to smell the flowery scent of the gazanias, one of her favorite flowers.

“This is Altan.”

Elia admired the horse, the Dornish were like Dothraki in the way they admired their horses and horseplay.

“What does that name mean?”

“Red dawn.”

A soft laughed broke free as she kept gazing at Altan, _red dawn, how fitting. The gazanias look beautiful with this coat._

“He is for you.”

Elia jerked her hand away, surprised drawing across her face. It was not the first of small gifts that he had given her, a week ago she received a book about the Moraqi history, along with the familial ties to Yi Ti and Leng and the wars that have been fought and won.

“Thank you,” she murmured, genuinely pleased.

“Would you care to go for a ride, Elia?” He had stepped closer to her; he had a saddle in his hands.

A small smile graced her face as she nodded her head eagerly, she has not ridden a steed in a while, and she wondered how these Moraqi steeds would fare against the sands of Dorne.

Then she snorted, _they were bred from an island empire, surely there are plenty of sands for these steeds to ride upon._

“Yes, I would like that very much Mehmed.”

His lips tugged upwards before he began preparing her horse for a ride.

Elia fidgeted in her trousers, as he let the reigns fall into her hands, when he walked back towards Nuray to bring her out of the stall towards the entrance of the stables. Elia had already mounted Altan, enjoying the way she had settled onto his back.

“Will your guards be coming?”

Even when they went on their walks around the palace, his guards were always following them, silent as ever. At first it was eerie, but it was a crisp contrast to how you could always hear the Kingsguard. Elia preferred the shadowed silence in comparison now.

“’No, I have my sword.”

Peering over at his horse, she was startled for the figure he posed. His sword hung at his hips, adjacent to his legs, his curls were bouncing as they made their way out of the stables, as he waved away his guards.

“Besides, I am never far from them. There is a reason they are called Shadow Guards.”

She simply nodded her head, there were many secrets that Essos held, Mehmed had told her he took council with warlocks and shadow binders, _maybe that is what he means, it is said that shadow binders can follow any man so long as they have their blood._

Elia was pondering her thoughts until they had traveled out of the Shadow City.

“Let us travel towards the beach, the tides sound nice,” Mehmed commented before he kicked Nuray toward forward, and she watched as Nuray heeded Mehmed’s command and broke out into a sprint, her legs stretching out and her mane flowing like a shadow.

 _I wonder what would happen should a Dornish steed breed with a Moraqi one,_ Elia chuckled to herself.

Elia kicked Altan into pursuit, she had taken caution to braid her long curls and she was glad as she could feel the braid hitting against her back as she followed Mehmed.

It was exhilarating and she even threw her head back and laughed at the giddiness she was feeling.

_I wish I could feel like this every day, so free in the wind._

Mehmed had given her the wind, for Altan was charging against the sand under his hooves. It had been awhile since Elia has taken a ride, and this was not a terrible way to be welcome back to it.

The smell of salt wafted her senses and she inhaled deeply, enjoying the mixed scent of gazanias and salt, it made for a wonderful combination – she decided.

Mehmed had gotten off his horse, walking towards her as she slowed Altan’s pace, until they stood next to Nuray. A guided hand helped her out of her saddle, and they stood in front of the Sea of Dorne; listening to the waves crash as their horses stood in the background, sniffing at the sand and peering out and beyond.

“Tell me Elia, what are you angry about.”

The question caught her off guard, just like Deria’s questions about Rhaegar and Rhaella.

She might have been offended, but the exhilaration of the ride hadn’t worn off yet, so she coughs out a laugh.

“Such a twisted question Mehmed, what am I angry about? Everything and anything. It all depends on the day and how I wake.”

Some days, she could pretend nothing happened at all; that she never married and had remained in Dorne. That Deria had come to her by a dream born into the flesh.

Other days, she remembered, and she would feel the rage in her blood.

“Alright, what are you most angry about?”

_Gods now isn’t that a good question? What am I most angry about? Can I even pinpoint it?_

Then the thought struck her, Harrenhal.

Elia walks closer to where the waves crashed upon the sands, contemplating her thoughts.

“When I arrived in King’s Landing, I had already heard the rumors that were being spread about me. Beautiful Elia, Jewel of Dorne but so frail. Aerys picked me for my Targaryen ancestry, but I am sure that had another Valyrian match been made, he would have been more than pleased.”

It was why she was chosen over Cersei Lannister and all the rest.

Her shoulders slumped as she walked back towards Mehmed, who was just staring at her intently. Before she made have found his intense gaze unnerving, but then she was reminded of the standard he bore. Eagles had great eyesight that she knew, and now she just told herself that his gaze was nothing less than the animal of his house.

“Then that blasted tourney at Harrenhal happened. I came even after my miscarriage; I was glad to leave the capital behind if only for a few days.”

Now looking back on it she could snort at the idea of ever finding peace while she was wedded to Rhaegar. It was doomed from the beginning; _I wonder if that Stark girl has realized it by now._

“I am sure you know what transpired, someone else was crowned my husband’s love and beauty. I had to sit there as I watched that girl blush from a crown that should have been mine. She held onto it throughout the tourney, you know?”

Elia had brought her hands back to Altan’s coat, enjoying the shine that it gave off in the evening sun.

Mehmed was silent as she talked, not interrupting as she told her story.

“In front of the lords and ladies of the realm, I was shamed. Told I was not the love and beauty of my husband’s eye. Then Brandon Stark came to King’s Landing, while Rhaegar and that girl absconded, in my homeland. Aerys made me watched as a son watched his father burn, as a son then strangled to death in the vain attempt to save his father.”

It disgusted her, yet her and Jaime both agreed that Brandon Stark was out of his mind to come into a mad man’s home and threaten to kill his firstborn. For all of Rickard Stark’s southern ambition, it got him killed. She did not know how they were taught in the North, but from what she has seen it appeared to be lacking.

“The war happened; I was held hostage for the use of Dornish spears. Only to find out that while I was hostage, I was not even Rhaegar’s wife, nor that my daughter was now a bastard.”

It was easy for Mehmed to paint the picture of Elia’s background and how she came to be back in Dorne, preparing for a second marriage.

“I think what I hate most, is that I was not given my due. Not my due as a Princess of Dorne, ranking higher than those lord and ladies that would sneer at my Dornish background. Not my due as a Crown Princess, a queen-in-waiting, not my due as a wife. Yes, that is what I am most angry about. I was not given my due, used a hostage to ensure my family stayed in line, only then to be discarded like the shit that pours through the streets of Fleabottom!”

The words were hissed out, like a viper hissing in distress, her anger rearing its ugly red head.

_I did not demand the respect I was owed._

_I should have._

“I am sorry, that was unacceptable.”

She had not meant to spit those words out with so much venom, not at Mehmed at least.

“Why do you apologize when you are right?” He asked her, and she just shrugged her shoulders.

_Because I am so used to apologizing. Apologizing that I did not have more Valyrian ancestry. Apologizing for my Dornish ancestry. Apologizing that I did not birth an heir, while in Dorne Deria would be the heir. Apologizing to the realm that had Rhaegar loved me and not turned to another, the realm would not have bled at least by Rhaegar’s actions._

Always sorry, always apologetic. It was a tiring thing that she found herself doing while in King’s Landing; now back home in Dorne, where she was given her due there was no need for apologies – she liked that.

“It makes it easier to accept everything that happened.”

_Because if I try to deny what happened to me, I will forever be troubled by the past._

_“_ That may be so but apologizing for something that is not your fault is foolish. If we apologized for every act that was placed at our feet, we would be miserable until our death.”

“I know,” and that she did but at times it made it easier to just accept it.

“I took the Moraqi throne twice before I was fully recognized as a sultan in my own right. My father may act as co-ruler but that is simply because I left Moraq in his hands until I return.”

Elia could feel her eyebrows rise as she looked at him, he lowered himself to sit on the dry sand and Elia herself did the same.

She leaned her head back, soaking in the sun and flowery scent that surrounded her.

“What happened the first two times? I have never heard of a person taking a throne three times and living to tell the tale.” She joked, which was true. Either you won the throne, or you died, at least here in Westeros.

“Growing up, I ruled my province with a strong hand but with dreams. How to better the lands so that the people under me could thrive.” Elia watched as Mehmed rolled up the sleeves of his tunic, before crossed his legs, looking far off into the horizon as he spoke.

“When the time came, I was six and ten, I was called to the sit on the throne of Moraq. My father retired for peace. I had proved myself worthy of the throne, having ruled my province and leading the army against some Dothraki that entered Qarth wanting to sack our allied cities for gold. I have taken the throne twice and have been removed twice.”

Dark eyes flashed to warm brown ones as she stared at Mehmed.

“How? Why?” Elia leaned forward, eager to hear this story.

Rhaegar tried to depose his own father and failed miserably, had Aerys not cut himself on the Iron Throne and bled out, there would be no telling how much longer he would have lived.

“Halil Pasha, a man who did not think I was worthy enough for the throne. He also wanted my sister’s hand in marriage for his son. I am no fool, only a blood of a Han can sit on the throne. They would have used my sister; they did not deserve her.” He said those words with a sneer, and she had a faint smile on her face.

_Oberyn thought Rhaegar was unworthy too, how true those words ring now._

“He served as the grand vizier for my father, each time my father retired for peace and I sat the throne, Halil Pasha would recall my father back. When I was governing my province, he would give me lessons, brutal lessons on what it meant to be a sultan, an emperor to the empire.”

Elia watched in horror as Mehmed took off his tunic and turned, allowing her to see jagged scars crossed over his muscle back.

Her breath came out in small huffs, as she sat on her knees, slowly crawling to him with her hands out. She gently raised her hands to the raised flesh, scared her touch may cause him pain.

“Does it still hurt?”

It looked painful to her eyes, so many lashes must have been given to leave such a tale on the tanned flesh in front of her.

“No, I hardly feel anything on my back. The first time it happened, I had cried like a babe, I was only seven as the time. Lady Mara was there when I returned to my rooms and she sung to me as she dried my tears.”

Her hands traced over the scars, noticing how some were fainter, longer and wider than others. It was a gruesome masterpiece that had been sketched onto his back.

“My mother is a bold woman, she pulled my chin up and said ‘Mehmed, no more tears. For your time will come.’ I used those words to keep me going, when I would take my lashings I would bear down and grit my teeth. I took the anguish and used it.”

Elia dropped herself onto her haunches and faced the tall man in front of her, looking at the scars that were faint on his chest, not prominent like his back.

Rhaegar had no scars, while he practiced his swordplay, he was not battle tested until he fought Robert Baratheon.

_This is a man, a man grown who has fought and who has bled. For his family and his empire._

That was something she could respect and so she did.

“When I beat back the Dothraki a second time and took the head of Khal Jako, I took the throne for the third time. I brought Pasha Halil and his son to my feet and I took their heads. Pasha Halil always told me I needed to learn my lessons and how to rule, so I did. I remember every word he said to me and I used it to give me a drive, a hunger that was unquenchable until I saw his blood pooling at my feet in front of my throne.”

He pulled her chin up, his eyes boring into her with something fierce.

“No more apologies. You are a princess, but soon you will be the Sultana of an Empire. The time for tears has passed. No more tears, Elia.”

Elia nodded her head gingerly, unable to break the gaze they shared.

_Teach me how to be like you, how to be brazen in what I want._

“Your time will come Elia,” Mehmed spoke.

_Should I dare?_

She could feel her heart beating quicker and she wondered if their horses could hear her erratic heartbeat.

_Does not everyone dare, especially when they have the means to? Rhaegar dared to have what was not his. That Stark girl dared too and now she is queen._

_Everyone dares, why not you Elia?_

Elia leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, basking in the way his beard tickled her face.

She almost feared she has made a misstep until she feels strong hands press on the back of her head, mussing into her braids, as a tongue is pressed against her lips and she opens her mouth in turn.

_Yes, why not throw caution to wind this just once? I deserve it._

_Besides, is it not my due to kiss my betrothed?_

Posted: 3/4/2020

Edited: 3/5/2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing much going, I ran a 5k this past Saturday and I played Daenerys theme music from GoT, it really pushed me.
> 
> Reality is boring, which is why I write lol. Hope you enjoyed the chapter, figured it was time for some romance yo.


	6. The Seeds Have Been Planted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elia gives council to Mellario. A trip into darkness with a man who blends so seamlessly into it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More dialogue, but some fluff at the end. Just a teeeeny bit. 
> 
> Next chapter: Elia, Deria & Mehmed? I know some may wonder why they will just be meeting, but I took this cue from both my parents when they divorced and entered into new relationships. You usually get the feel of a person before introducing them to your kids, so yea. Since the wedding will be coming in the next moon, more ships from Moraq will arrive and I can't wait for Lady Mara.

“Are you not nervous?”

Elia had covered her mouth as she chewed on her fresh fruit and oats, swallowing before deigning to give her good sister an answer.

“Nervous about what?” She lifted her cup to help her rinse out the taste of her oats with the water that had been flavored with a lemon.

Mellario looked at her in good nature before simply stating, “your wedding will be here at the turn of the next moon, so too will the Sultan and Princess’ mother.”

_My last good mother was the Mother herself, but Aerys was nothing more then a wraith of a demon._

“No, Mehmed and Jade have nothing but praise for their mother. While their father will not be able to attend, I think anyone who is not as mad as Aerys will be welcome.”

Elia watched as Mellario leaned back in her seat, she noticed that while Mellario had smiles and grace in public, in their private strolls around the palace or when they met like this, she looked more tired and worn.

Her hands reached for Mellario’s without thought and she grasped them, rubbing them soothingly in the hope to alleviate whatever her good sister was feeling displaced about.

“What is wrong, sister?”

_While my problems seem to have dwindled, others seemed to have grown._

“There are times, when I feel as though I do not know what I am supposed to do. Doran spends so much time as of late in his solar, conducting meetings. Dorne is so different from home,” the Norvosi woman spoke gently.

Elia’s own heart felt a pang, because she knew this feeling better than most. The homesickness, the hunger to walk the streets of your city unmolested.

“I, better than anyone else knows how you feel Mellario.”

“You are the Princess Consort of Dorne, now more than ever my brother needs you. For his burden is heavy to bear.”

She was instantly reminded of her mother and how her mother had changed after her father had died. Maron Gargalen was a hard man to his enemies, yet Elia can recall fondly of sitting at her father’s knee while he brushed her hair so gently and softly, putting in braids for her as she ran around the palace with Oberyn trailing after her.

When Maron died, Princess Loreza had staggered without her consort. It was Doran who became their mother’s spear before she too died and joined her only love in death.

“I know, Elia. I just wish, sometimes I can remember him and I meeting like it was yesterday. A foreign prince and a noble’s daughter.”

It was easy to see that Mellario’s thoughts were drifting off towards her past, while Elia did not doubt that Mellario and Doran loved each other, she knew that Mellario had taken time to come to terms with the incident with the Yronwoods.

Her thoughts drifted to over to the conversation she had just days before with Mehmed, advice that was freely given and so honest it was refreshing.

“Do not apologize for your homesickness, Mellario. Tis’ natural to hunger for what you are now starved of. Besides, once you begin apologizing for something you cannot help, soon you will be apologizing for everything else.”

Elia had known she’d been touch starved but since that journey down to the sea, it shocked her to know of how much. From returning to her rooms with swollen lips and a pleasant sensation in her belly, she hungered for the affection of the man she would soon call her own.

It was a natural thing, to miss what you once had; along with being so eager, to see it returned.

“I suppose you are right,” Mellario gave her a smile but Elia noticed it did not reach her eyes.

“Why not send word to your family, bring over some ladies to have in waiting. If you miss Norvos so much, why not bring a little of it to you?”

Even in King’s Landing, Elia had Ashara and her uncle Lewyn to remind her of home. She did not see why it could not be the same for Mellario.

Her suggestion was met with an eager nod, as Mellario lifted herself up from her seat as she pulled Elia up also to engulf her in a hug.

“That is a wonderful idea, they will not be here until after the wedding though, sadly. But I can even write my father to also send more workers.”

As of yesterday, the construction has begun on building the aqueducts onto the fertile lands by the Greenblood. Doran and Mehmed figured since we were in winter, it would be better to begin now while the weather is hospitable to the workers.

They also spoke of plans of creating quarries, especially in the eastern and southern parts of Dorne where agriculture is ill-suited because of the mountains, and the weather is the hottest. Doran had many plans for Dorne, and he was eager to begin.

Oberyn and Jade had gone out riding and scouting the lands with the pashas from Moraq, calculating the material and labor that would be needed for Dorne new ventures.

Mellario had taken the last of her wintercakes with her, as she swept out of the room, leaving Elia alone to finish her small meal in peace.

* * *

The trek to the Sandship was long but thinking about her mother and father caused a deep pain within her, so she sought out their resting place that was housed under the first home of Nymeria and Mors.

As she walked through the halls, she noticed the new tapestries that had been brought from Moraq and she stopped to study them in awe.

There were so many vivid colors, just like the tapestries Mellario had brought from Norvos, yet what drew her eyes was the one with a pale sky and large mountain with a cliff.

“It is beautiful is it not?”

Elia almost jumped out of her skin, when she turned her head quickly and was met by the familiar brown eyes of Mehmed.

“You almost scared me to death!” Her hand had risen to her chest, settling over her heart. The children were in the Old Palace, so the Sandship was empty of giggles and petty arguments between children.

“I do apologize, that was not my intention.”

Elia noticed that he only had two guards with him this time, but they gave him a considerable amount of space so that he may converse with her without them hovering.

“No, I was not expecting to find you here, is all.”

She had turned her head back to the tapestry, as she noticed that there was a woman sitting on the cliff, her hair blowing as she played some sort of instrument.

“This is the tale of Lady Zhaojun’s Grievances,” Mehmed had stepped closer to her as he gently touched the tapestry in front of them.

“Oh. I was on my way to the crypts; would you like to escort me while you tell me this tale?”

He did not answer her, he just simply held out his arm and she covered it with her hand, as she led them down the hall, she took notice of differences within the Sandship, since it would be the home of Jade and Oberyn once the renovations were complete.

“The Lady Zhaojun is a tragic figure in Moraqi history,” he spoke as they passed windows that allowed the Dornish sun to light the hall.

_I do not recall her in the tome I was given. Perhaps this is a tale told orally._

“Lady Zhaojun was a young girl, her beauty renowned in her hometown of Asabhad. When the God-Emperor, Mengo Quen began his progress, he scoured his empire for concubines. Lady Zhaojun was young when she was taken into the harem, but she was not the kind of girl who would lie in order to raise her status, so when the court artist came, she did not bribe him. Thus, the court artist was angry and painted her in a terrible light.”

Their steps were slow as they journeyed through the Sandship, Elia leaned more onto his arm as she tried to imagine a young girl taken from her home to be a bedwarmer for a king.

“Lady Zhaojun was a master at playing the pipa and guqin. The emperor was not interested in her because he believed her to be ugly, so she remained in low status and disregarded by the other concubines of the palace. Lady Zhaojun would play her instruments, stringing along sad songs as she was taken from her home, only to be disregarded. It was how she alleviated her grievances.”

Elia bit her lips at that, _history is littered with tragic women._

“The Emperor welcomed his cousin to court, Jar Jan, father to Jar Har of Moraq. Jar Jan wanted to take a wife, and so the Emperor offered up his least desirable ladies. When the Emperor was presented with the portrait of Lady Zhaojun, he immediately called for her to be brought to the throne room, for his cousin to wed. Alas, she was not the ugly maiden that the court artist had depicted, she was a true beauty of Yi Ti.”

As he said those last words, his hands twisted around one of her curls that crept out from her shawl; Elia did not have it in her to swipe his hand away, inwardly pleased about his gentle touch. He lingered on her curls before he dropped his hand and continued with his tale.

“Jar Jan was most happy to wed Lady Zhaojun, while Zhaojun saw it as an escape from a lonely life and so she went gladly to her new marriage bed in Moraq. However, her marriage only lasted ten years before Jar Jan died from injuries sustained when trying to enter Mahraj. Her stepson, Jar Har came onto the throne; many wished to see her wed to her stepson considering she was still young and only gave the previous Moraqi Sultan one son.”

“So, she left her son in the care of a trusted pasha and ascended the eastern mountains of Moraq. Because of the shorelines, the eastern mountains are a very windy place to dwell, but the Lady Zhaojun remained. It is said that she played her guqin in mourning, for her short moment of happiness was gone. Her grievances could be heard, as the winds of the mountains carried them down to the cities of Moraq; the mountains were named the Weeping Mountains for Lady Zhaojun. That is the tale of Lady Zhaojun.”

As they came close to the entrance of the crypts, she thought about the tale.

“I do not find it tragic,” she simply stated.

Elia had left his arm to grab the torch that was housed in its holder, as she turned towards Mehmed, her face partially covered by the firelight as her body was angled towards darkness of the crypts.

She watched as he waved away his guards who posted themselves at the entry, he walked forward, his black doublet blending in seamlessly with the darkness of the crypts.

“Why is that, Elia?”

“Is it not better to have ten years of happiness than none at all?”

_Death is inevitable, this war has taught me much. Yet, if death is promised to all then happiness is not. Such a fleeting emotion in life._

“I agree, it is better to have something then nothing at all.”

Her feet have walked this path so many times, she did not need to count her steps like how she did when she was younger. Elia passed the statues of her foremothers and forefathers, as she was led to the statues that stood before her – her mother and father.

Their statues were erected while they still lived, so their likeness was true. It was rare for Elia to ever come down to the crypts, for she mirrored her mother in looks and Doran looked so much like father.

Elia stared up at her father’s statue, admiring the Gargalen nose, his scowl that was always on his face except when he was surrounded by his children and wife. In his hand was a spear, with a whip attached to his side.

_Ever the warrior, even in death._

A sad smile filled her face and she wished her father was still alive to walk her down the aisle. Doran had walked her when she married in the Great Sept to Rhaegar, but her brother could not replace the hole in her heart from the absence of her father.

She sat down in front of his statue, leaning against it after she put the torch in a holder, drawing her shawl closer as the air was quite drifty.

Elia offered her hand to Mehmed, to get him to sit next to her which he took, his body pressed close to hers as she enjoyed the offered heat.

“Tell me of your father, Mehmed. What is he like?” _Is he like you?_

His hands stroked his mustache as she watched him become deep in thought on how to describe his father.

When Elia thought about the scars on his back, she wondered how a father could do nor saying nothing about it but then she thinks of Doran who had been fostered and Oberyn who went to Essos to fight as a sell sword.

_Men can lead the life they want, no matter the consequence. This world is theirs for the taking._

It would not be the first time Elia thought about the life she would have had, had she been born with a cock in between her legs and good health. Most likely she would have been with Oberyn, fighting with her back to his as they made a name for themselves throughout Essos.

A small chuckle left her lips at the thought, because Oberyn was just too unpredictable for something like that.

“My father, he is a peaceful man. While he can wage war as any general, he prefers to spend his days playing go or cyvasse. It is why we are co-rulers, after I proved myself worthy, my father was more than happy to give me more power. It is tiring, ruling. Yet, I can see the joy on his face when ever he takes progress of our empire.”

At this, Elia closed her eyes, instantly pleased by this news. A good father who would rather play strategy games then burn men alive.

_The gods are good._

“Wearing a crown is heavy, but the rewards are well worth it, I think.”

It was something her mother would say to her when Elia sat in her solar, learning as she was the spare. Ruling was hard, for lords and ladies could love and hate you, scheme and plan to dethrone you. It was a fine line that any good ruler had to balance.

“I am sure he will be pleased with you. For too long our inner palace has sat empty with no grandchildren, only little cousins littering about.”

There was another pang to her chest, as her back was cold from the marble statue behind her. Her father had not lived to see his grandchildren, with their mother only seeing Arianne and Obara before she died.

“I look forward to seeing Moraq and your family. You and Jade paint such vivid pictures of them.”

That was putting it mildly, but she was eager to meet their mother. The Moraqi were odd that just because a son was born to a king, did not mean he would inherit the throne. His upbringing, skills and abilities would be what led him to the throne, but also the role his mother plays also. To think a woman like Lady Mara has been such an influence and guiding hand that she helped secure her stepson’s throne, all because she loved him as a true born son, it still puzzled her at times.

_Yet, would I not do the same if I raised a child at my own breast that was not mine?_

She would often look at her nieces: Obara, Nymeria, Tyene and Sarella; all so different but regardless of their difference in mothers, they love each other for true.

“Yes, once we return, we will most likely take a royal progress throughout the empire and visit Yi Ti and Leng.”

Elia nodded her head, eager to see what was in the far east of Essos. She had been nervous when she spoke to Mehmed about staying in Westeros for when Jaime got married, but he had been gracious enough to agree.

“I have plans to crown you at our wedding,” he spoke bluntly.

The hands that had been still in her lap immediately clenched; _this is unexpected._

“I thought…I thought you would want to crown me when we returned in Moraq?”

“No, the day after we spoke in your brother’s solar – I was decided. I am fond of you; I even like you. This marriage will not be one simply made for convenience. Besides, you were born a princess, I shall make you a queen.”

Fondness.

_Fondness is not love, you can be fond of a toy or person and just as easily discard them when the novelty wears off._

This was not to say she was not fond of Mehmed – because she was, and she did like him, _but I want more_.

It had not been enough last time and Elia knew it would not be enough this time.

She exhaled a breath she did not realized she held, as she suddenly stood up. Standing before Mehmed who had remained sitting but was staring up at her as the light from the torch flickered throughout the darkness.

“I do not want just fondness. Fondness can easily be replaced. I want more.”

Elia knew that love would not suddenly come from thin air, but she was not asking for love.

“What is it that you seek from me then Elia?”

His tone was gentle, and she wished they had left the crypts so that she could look into his eyes and gauge the truth as she spoke to him.

_There is a lot I want, yet I know it will not be given to me._

_So, I will ask for the least, the things I desire above all else and hope the Seven hear me and give it to me._

There is a lesson in asking the gods for gifts and boons, because they can interpret your prayers in any way. It is better to be safe and ask for something that can be freely given and not risk their ire by demanding it.

“I want you to be solid,” she took another breath as she bit her bottom lip before releasing it.

“I do not need a man who will waver in his conviction.”

_Because I have had enough of wavering men who shift where the winds blow._

She had crouched down in front of Mehmed, peering into his eyes in the hope that he can see her sincerity in her wishes and wants.

“I want, I want understanding. I want you to understand my words when I speak to you. If there comes a time, I should even hope you accept my council.”

_How many times did I try to give Rhaegar council about Aerys and only to realize I had been speaking to marble instead of flesh?_

“Above all else, should the time come, and I give my heart to you, I wish to know it will not be a waste.”

_If I give my heart freely again for the third time and it is met with betrayal, I may just lose my mind._

They were simple entreaties: be loyal to her – do not waver with your actions nor words, be understanding and heed her word – for there is insight she can offer and if and when the time comes for love, do not be such a fool like the last two men and use and abuse my love.

His hands grabbed her face and brought it close to his, the fire allowed for their shadows to dance around the crypts, with tall, silent figures in the background.

It seemed fitting now, in the quietness of the darkness as they stared at one another; Elia holding her breath as she watched emotions flicker across his face as he pondered on her words.

The large hands on her face were warm, as they brushed gently against her nose chain, one of his hands touched against the thin fabric of her shawl that laid against her head.

“Is that all?”

_Yes, no. I do not dare ask for more._

“At this time…yes.”

In the future, she does not doubt that she will want more from him, but Elia will figure that out for another day or when the times comes to ask.

“You are asking me for nothing but the vows I would swear before your gods and mine.”

She immediately casted her eyes down but something pushed her forward, mayhaps since she was surrounded by her ancestors, she would not be cowed in their presence.

“These vows have been broken before; I do not wish to have them broken to me again. I apologize that my thoughts of men and vows have been tainted by a man who is not worthy to be next to you in comparison – but alas, the damage is done.”

For it really was a shame that while Elia may enjoy Mehmed’s presence, Rhaegar was still a shadow in her past, that was always there to draw comparisons to. She did not like it, but she hoped that with more time and the security of trust, it would not always be like this.

“Sow the wind and reap the whirlwind,” he exclaimed as he kept his hands on her person.

Her eyebrows rose in question as she tried to make sense of his words, he took notice of her confusion and pitied her for then he exclaimed, “I shall give these all to you. Dependability, understanding and fidelity. These are easily given, for they are also what I want from you. If you are to be my wife, my sultana, I would expect nothing less.”

Her shoulders immediately sag in relief, another burden she had carried has been lifted. _He only wants what I expect of him in return._

This was something she could do and do it gladly.

Feeling haughty, she asked “would you like to seal it with a kiss?”

But she did not wait for a response, as she raised her hands up to cup his chin, her fingers drifting over his facial hair as she brought herself closer to his lips. The linger taste of blood oranges and lemon still on her tongue mingled with his minty scent.

_Sow the wind, reap the whirlwind. We shall plant these seeds and see what the harvests brings._

Posted: 3/10/2020

Edited: 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, how's it going?
> 
> Doggysat both my sister's dogs, but they were running around outside and so now my allergies are all screwed up. Upside, whenever I'm sick my skin looks better and I lose weight, so its 50/50.
> 
> Good news: I got accepted into my Applied Psychology graduate program. So cheers to that but also boos because more work for me to do. 
> 
> Anyways, happy reading and happy writing.  
> :)


	7. As Sweet As the Honey From the Comb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The days to the wedding are slowly encroaching, but there are other tasks to be seen to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So 2020...she can go ahead and be thrown away. Jesus if I could hit the reset button...hope you are have been washing your hands and taking care of yourselves. 
> 
> Considering I based Mehmed off of Cesare Borgia, who was by all accounts a sarcastic man who loved to jest with friends, well...I hope it rings true in this fic.

The sun peered through the windows as Elia sat just outside the court of the Old Palace. While Dorne did not see snow this far south, the light chill still permeated through the air giving the Dornish a reprieve from the heat.

Elia had a board placed in front of her, it was a game called Go, that was popular in Yi Ti and Moraq, like cyvasse but with more pieces than she cared to count. But alas, since Jade had introduced her to this game, she was dedicated to learning it. It seemed more complicated then cyvasse, but she did not mind a challenge to sharpen her wit.

It had helped to take her mind off the weddings, both hers and Oberyn’s as she sat on the cushions, peering over the board as she watched Deria play with Sarella.

She kept the frown that began to encroach off her face, as she stared at her daughter in thought. She knew eventually she would need to introduce her to Mehmed, and Elia was apprehensive at best and dreadful at worst. Elia knew life was not kind nor fair, but it seemed more often then not, she found herself in positions that she did not want to be in – having to make decisions she did not want to make.

Her thumb and index finger toyed with the white piece of the board game, as she rolled it through her fingers in thought. Elia straightened up her spine before she set the piece down and turned fully towards her daughter and niece.

“Deria,” she called out gently.

Her daughter’s head was lifted from the toys that settled around her and her cousin, as she directed her gaze towards her mother.

“Mama?” Without having to be beckoned, her daughter started to make her way towards her, hands out at the reach to settle upon Elia’s lap for comfort.

Elia could not help but place a kiss on her daughter’s head as was her usual, for she had such a good daughter – her pride and joy.

“I would like you to meet a friend of mine,” she snorted lightly because friend would not be the accurate term to describe Mehmed, but Elia knew she was in a dangerous territory with introducing Deria to Mehmed.

A man who would become her mother’s husband, a stepfather to her to replace the one who sired her.

It all seemed so simple but complicated, it was slowly giving her a headache.

“Who?” her daughter parroted.

Rubbing a hand through her black curls, she hummed slightly in her throat in thought before relaxing her hands, “Mehmed, the man I told you about before.”

At this she felt her daughter stiffen, the playful look that was once on her face all but disappeared.

“Will he become my friend too?”

Elia remember when Deria had sat in her lap just days before, worried about Mehmed not liking her. It is easy for a child to think that if someone is your friend, then they must like you so.

“Oh yes, I am sure my sweet.”

Because surely if Mehmed could make Elia like him, with her disposition no longer being as sweet as her daughter’s, then he could not possibly fail with Deria.

_Or so I hope._

Elia had stood up, offering her daughter a hand as she beckoned Sarella to her also. They both had sturdy legs to walk on, so Elia did not have to trouble herself with trying to carry them both within her small frame and stature.

Her curls fell to her waist, against the silk gown she wore that covered her arms partially from the chill.

She walked hand and hand as her daughter and niece walked with her, as they moved towards the quarters where the Moraqi were being house in the Old Palace. Elia figured that Deria would do better if she had her closest friend with her when she met Mehmed.

The Shadow Guards were all posted throughout the hall, their masks varying in colors. Elia wondered if it denoted their status within the guard, but she did not seem to think so; for she can not recall if Mehmed or even Jade has called them by name, they are always there, ready to do the bidding for their sultan and princess.

_Mayhaps if Aerys had guards such as these, they would not have been such fools to guard their prince instead of their king, as is their name._

Elia held no love for the Kingsguard, the only true knight she saw was Ser Jaime. For even Ser Barristan the Bold did nothing to shield the queen from her king. She often wondered what would have happened should have Aerys been killed at Duskendale.

_He is dead now, it matters not._

If there was no other reason to get out of bed then for her daughter, it would be that she lived to spite Aerys when he treated her like a common man. That she triumphed with every breath she took, in defiance to Aerys, well it was something perverse, but she savored in it even more. To know she would be remarried to a man, by all counts was easy to like and grow fond of – there was something to be said about living, when your enemies sought…seek you dead. Seek you unhappy and miserable in the machinations of their designs.

_Is this not what soldiers do? Stepping over the dead body of their enemy to face another?_

Her thoughts were cut short when one of the guards knocked on tall wooden door, before she heard a muffled reply that allowed the guard to open the door.

She studied the room around her, the Moraqi were housed in the eastern part of the Tower of the Sun, not too far from where her family was housed.

While throughout the Tower of the Sun, the decorations and furniture were light and color, the Moraqi decorations and furniture she saw were dark, but not in the way that reminded her of Dragonstone. Silver and black littered through the room, pieces of home to bring comfort while they are so far away from their beloved island empire.

Mehmed had stood at attention when she entered the room, his turban off his head and his curls lazily falling every which way. He did not have a doublet on but a black silk blouse that moved like ripples in water when he gestured for us to join him. There was food laid out on the small table, food she has not seen before, but it smelled heavenly to her.

Turning towards Mehmed, she bowed her head slightly before introducing her niece and daughter.

“Good morning, Your Grace. This is my niece Sarella and my daughter, Deria. Sarella, Deria…this is my friend, Mehmed.”

Sarella had bravely let go of her hand to walk forward, eyeing the food spread out in front of her, while Deria remained by her side, somewhat hidden by her gown.

Sarella, always the curious one simply smiled before settling herself on the cushions as I walked over toward her, Deria peeking behind my gown every now and then.

“Princesses.”

The smile that crossed her face was quick and hurried, because Oberyn protested the idea of his natural born children being made into princesses, there was freedom in bastardy. Oberyn wanted them to decide when they were older, because with such titles came duties that Elia knew Obara would buck whole-heartedly.

She noticed that the room was empty besides them, there were no servants bustling around and the guards remained outside, guarding the hall.

“I figured; we could have an afternoon snack. I do not believe you have tried many of Moraq’s dishes. It is a combination of Yi Ti and Leng influences, but I believe you may have it agreeable to your taste.”

Elia watched as he picked up a bun, for it was white in appearance and bit into it. He waved his hand over the meal, offering them to join him.

Sarella was eager and took a bun for herself, studying it with her wide dark eyes in wonder before taking a bite. Elia watched as youthful surprise crossed her face, as she offered Mehmed a toothy smile.

Her daughter leaned against her, watching the tall man that sat before them and Elia reached forward for a bun herself, taking a delicate bite and being surprised by the meat and juices that came out of it.

She was glad she took a small bite as she used her tongue to wipe away at the excess juices that ebbed at the corner of her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully, trying to place the flavor and spices that she tasted.

Before taking a second bite, she lowered it towards Deria, who looked at her, before using her hands and eating after her. Elia knew her daughter loved sweetened breads, while the bread was sweet it was curbed by the spices within the meats and juices. An odd combination.

“So many flavors, what is this called?” she asked.

“This is a steam bun, cooked within bamboo that grows in Yi Ti. We roll it like dough for bread and then put cooked meat inside, letting the steam reheat the meat while the dough cooks. One of my favorite meals to have, especially during war.”

Elia hummed in response, taking another for herself as Deria had relaxed enough to eat in earnest.

_These spices will do good with Dornish meals._

The Dornish were used to spicy foods, using our wine to cool our palates before going back in. Yet it appeared the Moraqi had found a delicate balance between sweetness and spice, Elia was eager to see the food courses at the weddings; if this was a showcase of the culture she had to look forward too, than she was most eager to see it.

Elia watched as Mehmed seemed to be in no rush to hurry the conversation along, rather he just enjoyed the meal and company, for that she was glad. Elia knew how awkward and timid Deria felt, her daughter’s wavering confidence was proof enough as is.

This is something she’s coming to be used to, familiar and comfortable silences when her and Mehmed do not say anything, they simply…be. Either reading in the same room, her giving him Westerosi tomes and him giving her Moraqi ones, or them taking walks, with their hands slightly brushing up against one another as they stretch their legs and admire the scenery in silence.

Before she can speak, a knock at the door takes her attention away as a servant is let in, begging leave to take Sarella for her lessons with Princess Jade. Apparently Jade likes to play the guzheng, an instrument the Yi Ti use and Sarella has grown fond of it. Sarella gives a ‘thank you’ to Mehmed, before plucking another bun off the plate and toddling over to the servant, as they leave the room leaving just Mehmed, Deria and Elia.

Elia enjoyed the taste of Moraqi wine, sweet like the Arbor Gold she had drunk once in the capital.

“Deria, I have a gift for you.”

Deria had been nibbling on her food, turning back shy now that her favorite cousin had left and leaving her alone with her mother and a strange new man, who was not one of her uncles.

Mehmed had stood and walked out of the room towards the connecting door, towards his sleeping rooms. He returned a minute later carrying something that was covered but Elia could hear twittering.

Mehmed unmasked the cage, as two birds, one orange and the other red, both sitting on a perch, as they started to sing out now that they were uncovered and in the light. He set the cage down onto an empty table.

Elia looked down and saw how eager she looked, her daughter missed Balerion and so keeping her occupied with another furry friend would do her well.

“These are parakeets from Leng, sweet birds that are bonded together. They sing throughout the day and like fruit.”

She watched as he beckoned Deria closer, Deria all but abandoned her steamed snack and eagerly walked over, a nervous smile was on Deria’s face as she looked at the man in front of her. Elia wondered what her daughter saw when she looked at Mehmed; did she see the same things Elia saw?

For all intents and purposes, Mehmed was the embodiment of the words and promise he made to Elia in the crypts of her ancestors. Elia could only hope that Deria saw that too in time, that when she grew older, while she would not have the blood relation to Mehmed, she may at a time call him father as Elia did her own.

Deria put her hands on the cage, and Elia watched as Mehmed gave her a nod for her to open it. Her small hands gently touched one of the birds and she jumped when it twittered out another song, the bird’s voice light and airy.

A laugh bloomed from her daughter’s throat, as she giggled and touched the other bird.

“What are their names?” Deria asked with a frown.

“They are for you to name, to keep and to care for you,” he stated. Rubbing his beard, as he peered over her daughter’s head and his gaze landed on her.

“Thank you,” her daughter’s voice wobbled but her chin was stuck out in a small defiance as her eyes betrayed her. There was renewed interests in them, as she stroked the birds in thought.

It was a responsibility, but Deria had tamed Balerion who hated everyone that was not Deria, Viserys and Elia herself. If Deria could do that, then surely two birds would not be such an answer.

Her daughter nodded her head to herself, before closing the cage, staring adoringly at her new pets as she shot up to announce that she had to find Tyene and Sarella in order to find good names for her birds.

Elia did not even get a chance to dismiss her daughter before she took off, knocking on the door to be let out and running off.

Picking up her cup of wine, she drank gingerly before speaking.

“That went better than I had hoped. You bought her off,” it was a jest but also an observation.

Mehmed did not look guilty as he leaned back into his cushions, his long legs stretched out before him, as his eyes flickered back towards her before he shrugged his shoulders.

“When I was brought to Lady Mara, she gave me a wooden bird. A child far away from his mother and the home he knew but welcomed nonetheless.”

While Elia would have liked for her daughter to speak more to Mehmed, childish pursuits came first for her daughter, so she did not mind as much. Deria was not hostile and Mehmed was able to coax a smile and giggle from her. That was enough for Elia for now.

“Are you excited for the wedding?”

Elia withheld a snort as she got up from her seat, curving around the table with the food scattered on it and placing herself on the cushion next to Mehmed.

“Of course, I am,” because she knew her betrothed more than she knew Rhaegar when they had wed. Elia had time to analyze and speak to her betrothed in private and public. Knew how he commanded his guards and pashas. How he engaged with his sister, giving her authority on matters that pertained to their empire and their ventures here in Dorne.

Elia liked what she saw, and her prayers turned from the deaths of her loved ones, to her new marriage. Praying for peace and stability within it, that whatever troubles they may have, it can be solved with words, not letting the other feel abandoned.

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders in comfort, and Elia dug herself deeper into the cushions, enjoying the light brush of his fingers on her arms, making the small hairs stand at attention.

_Calloused hands, but gentle fingers._

“Are you?”

Elia lifted her head from its position against his body, as she stared into his face trying to gauge the truth from him.

_He sought to my hand, yes – but I wish to know if he has come to the same conclusion as I._

“Not all sultans marry. Some simply rule until their time has come to either step down from the throne, or they die. Before the astrologers told me of what laid west, I cared not for taking a wife nor siring children. I simply wanted to rule and have my named remembered within my empire’s history.”

He did not stop stroking her shoulders, but she saw his usual tact of stroking his beard whenever he was in thought. It seemed to soothe him whenever his thoughts became warbled when they spoke to one another in these hushed tones.

Elia did not bother speaking, preferring to lay up against him basking in the offered warmth, while she kept her eyes trained on him.

“Yet, here I am. I have come to collect what my gods have promised me.”

Elia hummed in her throat, as she withheld a chuckle.

_Aerys sent the Baratheons to Essos to find a bride for Rhaegar, yet when that proved futile, he settled on me. Now a groom has come from Essos for me._

“Yet, here you are,” she murmured in agreeance.

Elia uncrossed her legs and slipped off her sandals, curling them under her body to warm her toes that had been chilled.

“I am sorry for Deria, she can be a shy thing.”

While her daughter can be rambunctious, she has become wary of strangers, which Elia cannot blame her for being.

“She is but a babe, encountering a strange man who shall be taking her and her mother from their home. If she was not cautious of me, then I would be worried for her. Caution is good for women to have.”

This time, Elia did chuckle, “of course. Tell me, have you ever taken a woman to bed?”

If he was offended by her abrupt question, Mehmed did not show it, keeping his gentle fingers brushing along her olive skin.

“Of course. Even if I did not marry, I would not hold myself away from the pleasures of the flesh.

_At least he will be experienced in bed._

“I am glad to hear so; I would hate to find my marriage bed cold of pleasure.”

Now it was Mehmed who laughed, Elia took the time once more to enjoy his laugh, as his body shook against her own in humor.

_If nothing else, we make each other laugh – could be worse._

“My mother will be arriving soon. She will enjoy you. Now come, I have heard you have taken up Go. If you can beat me, I shall gift you a reward.”

He had stood up, towering over her with his hand outstretched as Elia uncurled from her spot on the divan. Slipping her dainty feet back into her sandals before taking his hand and hers.

“If you happen to win?”

“I am sure you can find something to gift me Elia. That I have no doubt.” It was a saucy reply and she tutted in response.

In their private moments like this, she saw another side of the man she would wed. Saucy and sarcastic whose sense of humor could be as cracked as a nut.

“I have a gift or two in mind,” as she stared at his lips. Her own stretching into a grin.

Posted: 03/20/2020

Edited:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought the interaction with Deria and Mehmed was short, but then I remembered when I met my step dad's new wife and I honestly did not care so long as she made my dad happy. I hated my last ex-step mom so I would have been happy with an alien for his wife if it made him happy. I think as kids, we don't put too much stock in our step parents when we meet them because we have some semblance of faith that our parents know what they're doing when dating, or at least I did. 
> 
> Deria has been missing her cat and Mehmed knows this, so why not gift her something pretty and something that can sing. 
> 
> I have a confession...I've been reading Twilight ff (I know...don't judge me but this quarantine has been shit. I've been scouring through some of my favorite fandoms and then I saw Twilight was on Freeform and I was like "heh...never tried the ff before." so here I am. got damnit.) and I am now tempted to write Twilight ff...in 2020 the year of our lord. Good god, have mercy on my soul. 
> 
> Anyways, happy reading and happy writing, I'll go throw myself in the garbage now.  
> :)


	8. Renewal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guests arrive in Dorne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quarantine blows. Be safe everyone and as usual, happy reading and happy writing!
> 
> Currently rewatching Empresses in Palace, one of my top c-dramas ever. Hope everyone is staying safe and being smart during quarantine. Wishing you well.

Elia could not keep the smile off her face even if she wanted to as the doors to the throne room had been opened and she recognized the golden locks immediately.

A small part of her remembered how she felt when Oberyn left for Essos in his youth to explore and stretch his legs, when he returned home, Elia had almost run into her brother with hugs and kisses.

Seeing Ser Jaime now was just like then, eager to see a brother, a friend returning to her side if only for a little while.

Elia knew he was just as pleased to see her as she was to see him because the cocky grin she had seen when she went to Casterly Rock looking for a match was smacked onto his face.

“Ser Jaime, Dorne welcomes you.” She stated as she stepped down from the dais, extending her hand for the golden knight to kiss.

“Princess Elia, you are always a welcome sight. I am glad to see your home just as you have seen mine.”

She knew that they had both been changed irrevocably from their time as captives; when she looked at Ser Jaime now, she saw a young Tywin Lannister. 

_A dangerous man in the making._

_So, the lion has emerged._

Without sparing a glance to the red headed man next to him, she led Ser Jaime closer, introducing her brothers before settling on Jade and Mehmed.

“This is Sultan Mehmed and Princes Jade of Moraq, my betrothed and future good sister.” She stepped away and reached for Mehmed’s arm, so eager for them to meet.

“Your Graces,” Ser Jaime bent down and kissed Jade’s hand.

Mehmed outstretched his hand and shook Jaime’s firmly, as Elia watched on in silent peace.

In their conversations late into the evenings she has spoken of Jaime to Mehmed, of his valor and everything he did for her and Deria. Such loyalty had to be rewarded and they were both coming up with a gift to be given at Jaime’s wedding to his Hightower bride.

“Princess Elia has spoken fondly of you Ser; it is nice to hear that these lands have one knight who has kept to his vows.”

Elia looked up and put her onyx eyes on Jon Connington, the man had the gall to come to Dorne. Over the days a fervent thought escaped her mind as she wondered exactly why Rhaegar would send this man to Dorne.

When Elia had told Mehmed of her dealings with Connington, a gleam she had never seen before passed through his eyes before it disappeared altogether.

It was a small hope that she wanted Jaime to push Connington off their ship before they ported, least then she would not have to stare at the man who lauded insults at her from the beginning of her last marriage.

“Lord Connington,” the warmth in what she spoke to Jaime was gone, if anyone wondered how she felt about this lord from a landed house – well they would need to only hear the steel behind her words.

Without sparing another glance she nodded her head to her brothers, before offering to show Jaime to his chambers. They would be on another floor within the Tower of the Sun but still close, nonetheless.

“Come Ser Jaime, allow me to take you to your rooms. I am sure you wish to rest from your voyage.”

Her guards followed them out and while they gave her a nice berth in distance she looked up at Jaime, noticing the lack of bags that had settled under his eyes the last time she has seen him.

“Tell me true good ser, how do you fare?”

While they exchanged letters, she now had a moment to take in his appearance, the future Lord of Casterly Rock.

Mayhaps if she was seven years younger and his age, she would be a blushing maid in his presence but alas she is not.

“Some days are good, some are bad. Yet the good days are becoming more frequent, so I cannot complain Princess.” He looked down at her and gave her a lazy grin and she eagerly returned it.

_I am so glad he is doing well. He was forced to grow up, but mayhaps this has done him some good like it has done for me._

“Tell me of your bride Jaime, when I visited Hightower, Denyse was a little thing. I hear she is a beauty though.” She lifted one of her arched eyebrows and the corners of her mouth twitched when she saw Jaime duck his head.

“A beauty indeed, though she dulls in comparison to the sun,” he quipped and at this Elia laughed.

This is what she missed with her friend, the easy banter they had. There were days in the Red Keep when Elia would not speak to anyone outside of her daughter. The words she wished to be spoken would be kept under lock and key until Jaime came to visit.

“I am glad to see you are in merry spirits Ser. It has been awhile since we have exchanged jokes. Tell me of your family, how fare the Lady Cersei and Lord Tyrion?”

Elia could see him bristle at the mention of his sister, his lover but he did not waver as they kept walking down the hall.

“They are well, my sister is to wed Addam Marbrand, a good friend of mine from childhood. Tyrion is well, he’s as smart as a whip. I have hopes that when I visit Hightower, I can bring him with me to Oldtown so he can see the library there.”

_So, he has stopped loving his sister then, all first loves must wither and die._

“I am happy for you Jaime truly, you above all others deserve good fortune.” Not a lie was spoken from her lips, she cared greatly for her friend. The most unexpected boon she had been given during her darkest time and he had been a second flame to Deria that shielded her from the darkness of the abyss she found herself in when Rhaegar left.

As they arrived at his chambers, she gave him another smile, wishing him rest before she departed to Doran’s solar, knowing he wanted to speak to her about her behavior with Connington.

_Just thinking about that rooster man brings forth my ire._

Her guards trailed after her as she nears Doran’s solar and they remain posted as she enters, finding Doran sitting at his desk looking over the findings that Oberyn and Jade brought back from their inspections.

“Brother,” she states before walking over and pouring herself a cup of wine.

Doran lifts his head and watches her, before looking back down, shuffling the parchments before he picks up a quill and dips it in ink.

“I cannot decide if Connington is here to spy on our movements or if this is another slight by Rhaegar.”

The flesh on her neck bristled under her curls as she sipped her wine, debating over her brother’s words.

“Connington hates Dorne and he hates me. It is no secret that there is no love lost between us. He is a red headed fool who fancies himself in love with Rhaegar. I was never good enough for his precious silver prince. This is nothing more than a slight, an insult to send the man who but all called me a whore!”

Elia scoffs before settling down into a seat, she can feel her nose ring jingle slightly as she flares her nostrils.

“Calm down sister, there is no need to be so put out over one man.”

“Ha! I am calm sweet brother, do not worry about me. If I had it my way, I would throw that man into Hellholt and let him see how the Ullers treated Rhaenys when she fell.”

The insults that Connington paid her over the years began filtering through her mind as she took eager gulps of wine, wanting to soothe the undercurrent of emotions.

The very thought of the man being in her country, the walls of her home when he despises it so made Elia’s skin crawl.

The very notion that Rhaegar sent him to attend her marriage, it is an insult that she wishes she can return.

_Mayhaps this time that man can hold his tongue for I have heard enough from him to last me a lifetime._

“I have posted guards around his chambers to keep him isolated, I do not want that red headed cur within our walls either Elia. I shall have his movements watched and keep him away from you.”

At this she got up to refill her cup again, enjoying the sweet after taste of the Moraqi wine that has been introduced to their palates.

“Good, that is all that I can ask.”

_Unless you plan on giving me his head as a wedding gift – how sweet would that be?_

The solar was then filled with silence as Doran signed away, before he sighed out and walked away from his desk, pouring himself a cup of wine.

“I have been told that after you visit Casterly Rock for your knight’s wedding, a detour shall be made on your voyage to the Moraqi Empire.”

At this Elia gave her brother a genuine smile, because Mehmed promised to show her the Rhoyne before they sailed down to Moraq. She was quite eager to see the river that sustained her Rhoynar ancestors before they fled from their homes with Nymeria.

“Yes, I am looking forward to see our history.” 

Elia was sure that her daughter would also be pleased, for she was a curious thing just like her cousin Sarella.

“I am glad. As you know the Lady Mara shall be arriving on the morrow, are you nervous?”

She snorted before waving a hand, “no, not at all. Mehmed and Jade have taken time to explain to me their childhood and upbringing. I find myself more eager to meet my future good mother and father then the ones that came before them.”

For all that she tried, knowing Rhaella and how Aerys tried to stifle the life out of her, Elia still felt like Rhaella and Aerys before his madness set in, catered too much to Rhaegar. That the circumstances surrounding his birth allowed him to be melancholy and flighty with his thoughts. While Mehmed may believe in his stars and messages from his gods, from what Elia had learned there is no doubt that should he have behaved like Rhaegar, his mother would have snuff out that behavior.

With those thoughts in mind, it made it easy for her to appreciate the sultana that helped shape he man she kisses and touches on.

Finishing her wine, she set the cup down back onto the table, pulling a few loose strands of her curls behind her ears.

“I shall be going; I must rehearse the bridal dance with Ashara and my other ladies.”

“Oh? You seem to be going all out for this wedding.” Doran noted with interest.

“I actually know my groom this time, I like him also.”

_It does not hurt that his kisses are sweet and spiced just as those Moraqi wines. I know he is a man of his word and I will not have to worry about him seeking another bed after he has been in mine._

“So, it seems,” her brother stated as he inspected her carefully just like the parchments he was reading before she came into his solar.

Her lips pursed as she eyed her brother, “what?”

Whatever he was searching for he must have found for he kissed her on her forehead, stepping away and looking like a cat who has found a bowl of cream.

“You are glowing sister.”

She waved him off, not willing to feel the heat on her face surface and show her pleasure at her brother’s remark.

“Whatever you say Doran, I must be off.”

Elia departed before her brother could say more, or pry more.

_He sees too much._

Elia walked down the hall with a sway to hips and a smile tilting on her face. Elia could admit to herself that she has been pleased these past weeks and enjoys the renewed happiness she feels.

When Elia got her first glimpse of the Lady Mara, she noticed black hair that had soft curls lamenting throughout her head. The Moraqi sultana had half her curls pinned to the top of her head with braids flowing throughout, while the other half lay against her waist that seemed longer than Elia’s own.

 _She is beautiful,_ she noted as her eyes were an odd mix that reminded her of amethysts but also the flush green of the Reach.

For a moment, Elia lamented the loss of Mehmed not being Lady Mara’s trueborn son, to see those beautiful eyes in his handsome face? Elia could quite possibly swoon at the image she had conjured.

Her neck was also long, which must be a shared trait in Moraqi with their mixing of Lengii and Yi Ti blood.

 _Graceful_ is the word that came to her mind.

When the sultana had arrived, all the Moraqi court who was present bowed to her, as she crossed the room towards her son and daughter. Elia watched in slight awe as even Mehmed and Jade bowed too; she knows then that the love he shares for the woman who took him to her heart is real and genuine.

For how can it not be? To be taken from your true mother and put into a province alone, then you have an angel descend before you as a guiding hand. Mehmed has always credited his mother as the one who led him to the throne; that there had been an equal amount of work they both put forth to secure it.

Now that Elia sees the deference that is paid to the sultana, she watches even more closely. The way both Jade and Mehmed kiss the two rings that adorn her hands, one Elia knows is the ring that the Sultan had given her when they wed, the other is the ring that signifies her power over a contingent of the Shadow Guards.

 _Influence_ is the word that echoes within her mind, as Lady Mara looks towards Elia with a curious look in her eye.

 _What does she see when she looks at me?_ The question that is always drifting in her mind when Elia finds someone staring at her for a moment too long.

Elia can feel her nerves startle as Lady Mara offers her a smile, her eyes lighting up in joy as she lifts her hands, allowing the Moraqi court to stand once more.

She leaves her son and daughter and walks towards her, and Elia reminds herself to breath.

 _I wonder how old she is,_ for she does not look as aged as Rhaella, but then again, her husband the sultan was kind and more inclined to peace.

“I am so glad to meet you Princess Elia; your beauty has been spoken about even as far as Moraq.”

_Has my first marriage been spread that far too?_

As soon as the thought passes her mind, Lady Mara grabs one of her hands, rubbing it as if to soothe her.

Elia watches as her future good mother’s eyes wander over to where Oberyn is standing, looking ever more as a Prince of Dorne.

“I am also glad to know that any children sired within these marriages will come out to be beautiful. Oh yes, indeed.”

Lady Mara left Elia’s side as she drifted over to Oberyn, Elia felt as though the lady floated for her footsteps could not be heard, just like the guards that surround Mehmed.

Elia withholds a laugh as she watches her brother be inspected like a fine steed, his head being turned this way and that.

“The infamous Red Viper of Dorne. To know I shall have vipers within my midst, intriguing indeed.”

Lady Mara turns towards her daughter, who seems to be matching the mischievous look of her mother, “Sweet daughter I have hope that you have had no problems in reigning this rogue prince in?”

Elia chuckles at this and finds her own laughter echoed by Jade’s, “Indeed mother, the viper may wait in his grass, but the eagle waits on her birch.”

The Dornish Princess steals a glance at Oberyn, who for the first time since they were children, looks flustered.

_He has met his match. The children they may have shall be menaces to their enemies._

For Elia does not doubt that a daughter raised at this woman’s knee will be anything but deadly. She knows that the co-sultan of Moraq is a peaceful man, but that he has kept his throne for over forty years; then part of the credit must be laid at the woman who stands before them.

_She has helped secure the reign of one sultan while secure the throne for another. A formidable feat for a formidable woman._

If a moment of despair crosses her mind, she hushes it immediately to not make herself feel jealous of the woman standing before her.

In a way, she is reminded of herself in Lady Mara, while she did not secure a throne for her daughter; she has secured a castle and legitimacy.

“Come now children, let us be merry over wine and food. My eyes hunger for the grandchildren I have not seen but dreamed of.”

At this the Moraqi court dispersed, already making way to fulfill their sultana’s wish of a feast, while Elia joins her arms with Mehmed while Lady Mara attaches herself to his other arm, Oberyn and Jade following behind them as they leave the throne room, towards the rooms where they children played.

“I have brought many gifts, I am eager for the weddings, so that I may present them. Let your enemies see and weep. Moraq is eager for new friends in the west.” Lady Mara states, Elia can do nothing but nod her head and agreeance thinking of Connington and him being here.

_Let them see and weep._

The laughter of children could be heard, and a relaxed smile filled her face at the peace children can bring to her worries.

Elia leans in a little closer to Mehmed, enjoying the way he has shortened his stride for the ladies attached to his arms, his lips tug in the corner as they usually do whenever she does something that pleases him.

When she stares into his eyes, she quite likes that they remind her of fresh soil after rainfall, for there is always growth to be had in something new.

Posted: 03/26/2020

Edited: 06/03/2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably be editing these chapters, but even when I do edit, there's always a mistake left over so blah!
> 
> Anyone got any good fics recommendations?


	9. Interlude: Mehmed I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mehmed begins to understand Elia and asks some tough questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy ya'll. Hope everyone is being safe while in quarantine.

When the astrologers told Mehmed to look west, at first, he scoffed because he had business to attend to here in the east. Solidifying his own rule once his father stepped down as co-sultan, there are many of things he plans to implement so that when he departs this life – his name will be etched into history and be remembered for his deeds.

But alas, his gods are hard to ignore when their words are written in the stars.

Word had reached Moraq of the troubles in the west, a mad king sitting on a throne of swords – the Moraqi court had laughed. They, even him did not understand why such a man remained on his throne for so long, why had someone not killed and depose of this king? Why did his grown son not take the throne from him since his madness was so blinding?

Here in this empire, incompetency gets you nowhere, it is one of the first things that is rooted out when a child goes and begins learning to rule their provinces. With the right mother and pasha at your backing, such idiocy is rooted and stamped out, either with words or with a whip such his back is detailed in that regard.

It made him curious to the west and the machinations the people there had.

Then word spread of the discarded princess whose house was symbolized by a sun and spear. Uprooted by a wolf, the Moraqi court was confused because long ago mistresses' schemes were done away with, with the harem. Now if such thing happened, a lord or sultan would kill his mistress and be done away with the dramatics. There was no time for such antics, not when a empire had to be ruled. 

His interest grew when a Norvosi messenger brought forth a marriage betrothal for his sister and a hidden letter for his own eyes by the Prince of Dorne, Doran Martell.

It was bold, but he has since learned when he took the throne with his mother behind him, that only those who are bold get what they seek.

He resigned himself to the will of his gods and sailed west with his sister and guards, wanting to see what was his as promised in the stars.

* * *

If he thought the west was strange, then he thought Princess Elia of Dorne was even stranger.

When they arrived into the Sun’s court, he studied the princess while she studied his sister, Mehmed watched her movements and how she held herself together, how her spine was straight and her eyes while inquisitive were wary at best. When her eyes landed on him, he watched in rapt attention as she took in everything that was on his person, probably cataloging it and analyzing it later when she was alone as she sized up the man who wanted her hand in marriage. 

That same expression remained in her eyes, until they spoke in her brother’s solar when she coaxed a laugh out of him, he thought that while he never cared for the idea of marriage before – having someone who was as witty as her by his side would not be so bad. Least then when troubles of his empire raise his ire, his wife would make him laugh with her words.

However, when he invited her to the stables and gifted her with a horse, he saw the receding of suspicion from her eyes. Mehmed had thought to question her brothers on her behavior, but he is Moraqi and he has worked to attain his throne – he shall do so with his betrothed.

It is only when they arrive on the beach of the Sea of Dorne, does he begin seeing the princess for who she is, a woman who has been broken and has had to put herself back together.

He admires and respects her, because most women would simply stay in the shadows after the fallout of her previous marriage. To have her daughter named a bastard and be publicly repudiated, yet still stand tall – she reminds him of his mother.

Lady Mara is a strong woman, who took him to her knee and cuddled him when he taken from his birth mother. She sung him songs and wiped his tears and told him that what he wanted he shall gain, but he had to work for it. His mother has been his pillar and he respects her almost reverently for all the work she has committed to his cause and the fact that she welcomed his sister as her own also.

Mehmed is no green boy to the pleasures of the flesh, and he had almost wanted to laugh when Elia had stilled after she leaned forward and brushed her lips to his that day on the beach. It wasn’t until he cupped the back of her head and held the flesh of the skin on her waist, did she give in and begin to kiss him with eagerness.

While he holds his own court within the court of his soon to be good family, he also watches them and how they interact. He even visited the Water Gardens for a short time, admiring how the children of Dorne are free to roam and play with one another, no matter their status.

He learned that this was a gift that Maron Martell gave his dragon-bride Daenerys Targaryen, to help her settle within Dorne. Mehmed has already gotten one of his pashas to remain there to get the prints so that when they return to Moraq, he can build his own gift for the daughter of a dragon and sun.

By all accounts, he is not a romantic man for he has never gave himself over to romance before. To woo and court a lady when he had no interest in marriage seemed like a waste of time, but for Elia? To see the suspicion and caution diminishing in her eyes, the longer she is around him, it can only bode well for their marriage and marital bed.

There is no issue with the idea of him working and coaxing Elia to see him in a good light, to giving gifts to her daughter and nieces, for soon he shall be a stepfather and uncle to them. He has many cousins, too many to count really but he loves and dotes upon them the same. Mehmed knows that children are innocent but there comes a point of time when the world slowly begins to corrupt them.

This comes in the form of Deria Martell, or Deria Sand for those who hold disregard for Elia and Dorne in general. Elia spoke of her daughter’s wariness for while she is young, she is her mother’s daughter and possess her mother’s wit.

It is a sad reality that a child knows that something is wrong, while he is sure Elia has taken great care to explain to her daughter their new reality, he is angered on both of their behalves that an explanation was needed in the first place.

Mehmed remembers when he left his birth mother’s care and Lady Mara explained to him this new stage in life, but he was five - not three like Deria, and always knew such a time would come for this change. What did Deria Martell have? Born a princess twice over, only to have her childhood snapped and thrown at her little feet. Looking towards her mother to help her understand why the way things are the way they are now.

His opinion of those outside of Dorne and more-so this dragon king, is low. He cannot understand a man who would allow his wife to be used and abused within a court he would soon inherit, just as he cannot understand how a noblewoman has jumped a princess for a position as queen. His father had killed a man when he had spoken out of turn against his mother for not bearing the sultan's two children. Courtiers began to learn that having a loose tongue is easily lost when you do not hold it to your betters. 

The understanding between his mother and father is hard to understand; but he knows that since his mother could not get pregnant, she found two women who were distantly related and brought them forth for her sultan to bed and get with child.

In Moraq, most cases a lady may have a say in her husband’s choosing for a mistress, because then the mistress reflects on the lord and thus his lady. It is a complex system, which is why most forgo a mistress or a wife at all, just having a natural born son or daughter and gaining them legitimacy, letting them inherit the province that they governor.

When he gave tomes to Elia of the history of Moraq, he also instructed his sister to help guide her in the understanding of the ladies of Moraq court, and the influence they hold in not only Moraq but also Yi Ti and Leng. It is a trifecta effect, how one’s action can cause ripples across the waves to their allies and cousins to the east of them.

Mayhaps that is why when Jade’s birth mother died, his mother had no issue with taking her for her own, because Lady Mara knew the Lady Kayela and was wise in her judgment. It is the same that happened to him, when his mother the Lady Pharya died Lady Mara did not scorn him but gave him a smile and hug when she welcomed him.

Now that he thinks upon it, it had been his mother’s choice to accept those two women into her husband’s choice, thus it has also been her choice to take their two children for her own.

This is what makes him frown, because as far as he knows and from what he has gleaned from Elia, she was not given a choice.

She was not given a choice to remain unbothered after her birthing Deria, it was not her choice to remain in King’s Landing during her second pregnancy, it was not her choice to have her former husband scorn her publicly at a tourney; simply put it seems to Mehmed she did not have the liberty to make many of her choices once she became the wife of the Crown Prince.

While the women in Moraq do not sit the throne, their sons can prove themselves worthy and gain the chance to inherit it. Outside of the throne of Moraq, castles, keeps, provinces can be passed down between the matrilineal and patrilineal lines. The sons who do sit the throne with the name Han, their mothers or even sisters stand behind the throne, helping them rule just as his mother and sister have done and his mother still does.

The women of Moraq are given a choice, not just to be mothers but also run businesses and study medicine if they so wish; it is the influence of the Lengii that has allowed for this to be so. Sultans have learned that while men may be ruling the throne, who rules outside of the courts? The women who educate the children they bare that will come after them.

It is why he likes Dorne, because they seem to get this idea and do not scorn a woman because of her sex.

Mehmed has taken note of many things here in Dorne, especially the Martell siblings. He has watched the coolness of the eldest brother, Doran and the fury that simmers underneath as he prepares his country and kingdom for a new age. Mehmed and Doran are alike in their thinking, plotting out their machinations and ideas, either through a game of go or cyvasse.

Oberyn Martell is fire incarnate, his fury licks your skin if you do not know how to temper him, but Mehmed likes his future good brother enough, because while he may have been wild when he gained his four children; he has no doubt that his sister will keep those temptations at bay. Mehmed is also sure after having seen Elia being thrown aside for a mistress, Oberyn will ever more be careful that he treats his wife with all due respect.

Elia is his betrothed of course, but Mehmed finds her fascinating – she is the combination of both her brothers. A cool temperament on the surface but when pushed, when goaded, she is just as much a viper. He studies her closely when she interacts with her daughter and nieces, the way her eyes warily watch the door when it open and closes from servants. The way her eyes soak in her daughter as if she will disappear from her eyes.

How her words and movements always have a purpose and precision to them, it makes him even more curious. While Elia only speaks briefly about her time in King’s Landing, even the words from Doran and Oberyn do not help Mehmed get a full picture of why from all accounts the Elia that stands before him now is so changed from the one the servants talk about before she left.

He knows that Elia does not like to be stared at for too long, that it is the tension in her eyes and the way her nostrils flare that causes her nose ring and chain to slightly move before she tempers herself, it shows and it makes a person deter their eyes away from her. He wonders if she knows that she is beautiful, that the jewelry she wears enhances her appearance even when she does not put in much effort. It is natural beauty, like his mother and sister have - where not much is needed to make yourself beautiful. 

It is why he now he stands before the door of the knight who has in some way, shape or form saved his princess. Elia has spoken highly of Ser Jaime Lannister, while she has no love for his father, she told him of this knight and how he doted upon her daughter and how he missed his little brother when they spoke in whispers and shadows, a midget that she wished the best for when she was younger.

His guards stand behind him and he raps his knuckles against the door once then twice, before he hears shuffling.

Mehmed waited a few hours to allow the knight to be rested but his curiosity has won out and now his warm brown eyes meet that of emerald or some sea foam, as the knights eyes his warily. He scowls softly to himself because it is the same kind of wary, he sees so often in Elia when she thinks no one is looking at her.

“Good evening Ser Jaime,” Mehmed watches the man, soaking in his facial features and the way his eyes relax when Mehmed makes no move to enter the room without invitation.

“Your Grace,” the knight states, before lifting on arm to offer him the invitation he has been waiting for to enter the room.

Mehmed is led to the divan and sitting area, where Ser Jaime has turned his back slightly to pour himself some wine, but the knight still has Mehmed within his eyesight.

_A knight that knows his surroundings._

“Your Grace, what has brought you to my rooms?”

Mehmed contains an eye-roll because he does not think the knight to be daft, no for he knows Elia enough to know that she does not abide idiocy.

“You know why I am here, ser. I wish to speak to you about my bride and her time in King’s Landing. I wish to know why she carries the wariness that you also carry. I wish to know her story, told from a different perspective.”

He has asked the Lady Ashara, but she is Elia’s closest confidant and while Lady Ashara has told him some things about her own time in King’s Landing, she was not with Elia for that year she was left alone with a deranged king while her husband fucked his mistress in her homeland. He also knows she will never tell him more because she guards her lady and close friend with a fierceness, that Mehmed wholeheartedly approves of. 

Yet, Ser Jaime was there with Elia at possibly her darkest hours.

He watches as Ser Jaime downs his cup of red, before pouring himself another one. Mehmed waves away his hand, not wishing to drink so that he can remember everything about this conversation, from Ser Jaime’s facial expressions, the tone of his voice, his body language – he commits himself to storing this information with hunger.

“Mayhaps, I should start from the beginning.” The knight states, as he puts down his cup and sits on the divan, running a hand over his face before steeling himself.

The words that pour out of his lips come easy at first, it is of the knight’s own childhood, but then he discusses his mother’s death, him being knighted at such a young age, then joining the Kingsguard.

The tale starts off happy enough, but just as any path, Mehmed can see where the shadows begin to form across the branches and dim it. The way the knight licks his lips as he describes the burning of men, common folk who stole simply because they were hungry and had no other choice available to them.

Of the Princess who gave him kind words in passing, of the Queen he had to hear be raped and abused, of himself – a boy whose ideas of knights was destroyed when knights turned their backs on ladies in their most dire need of duress.

A tale of a prince who by all account would have made a great king, a prince who gave coin to the poor and played his harp to soothe their worries. How those hopes and dreams turned to ash when he helped lead the realm into a war over a girl who has barely come to age.

It is a story that disgusts him because he finds it so…idiotic.

_What good is a harp, are the poor suppose to feed themselves on musical notes?_

When Mehmed states this, even Ser Jaime laughs because giving some coins and playing music here and there, does not solve the issue at hand. Poor people all congregated into one area, where shit and horse dung fill the streets. Children going to bed hungry or women selling themselves into prostitution in the hopes that it will cover the cost of bread and mead.

It is a lesson he remembers learning early on, a sultan serves his empire while his people serve him. A sultan is there as a father to his empire, to lead them into the light and to ensure they are whole and hale. Not to simply sit on a throne and never bother with them. It disturbs him and he glad to note that Doran takes interests in his kingdom and people. What is a king without a kingdom? What is a king without people to make his kingdom? These are the questions that should be asked here in Westeros he believes. 

This information, this tale that gets unloaded onto him makes him rub his temples as he processes everything to analyze later in his pursuit into understanding Elia better.

No matter where Mehmed goes, from Yi Ti, Leng, Qarth, even Lys it always seem like the innocent suffer the most because by all accounts Elia is a good and gracious lady.

When she sent back her ladies out of fear of the king, staying behind as a hostage with her daughter. As she took a young knight under her wings as they tried to outwit a spymaster in order to exchange words to help them through the darkness, they found themselves in.

By the time that Mehmed leaves, he finds himself mentally exhausted and also angry, because while Elia may have been someone else’s wife at the time, it seems as though his gods have chosen her for him, he now knows that she was never treated with the care that she should have been given in the first place. It is an oversight he shall have to correct and make sure it never happens again. Women should be protected like his mother and sister are. 

Elia made mention of it at the beach, but not into this detail, to Mehmed it seems this treatment was simply because she was Dornish and the rest of Westeros does not like the Dornish nor the idea of Dornish influence – yet he knows that the Targaryens has Dornish blood, so it confuses him on how the people and even the dead king could have hated Elia, when Dornish blood sits the throne.

_These people are idiots. I would never forsake my Yi Ti nor Lengii ancestry just to show favor to my Moraqi side. All three have influenced me greatly, why should I have to choose one over the others?_

Mehmed spits on the very idea of it.

Oh, there was a time when the Lengii hated the Yi Ti and the Moraqi distrusted the Lengii for how close it was to Mahraj. But considering the proximity of all three, marriages and the name Han has ensured that that bias and suspicion has decimated. Where the Han family has seats of power in all three, ensuring that should one seat be threatened the other two come to aid. It is an alliance based on blood, name and the want for peace between all three.

Mehmed knows that there were three marriage into the Iron Throne, including Elia’s own, but that has not diminished the way the Westerosi see Dorne, but Mehmed tosses it up as a loss for them, for he was able to gain a bride that has her wits about her. He would have been sorry if his gods sent him in search of a woman who was no smarter then a bag of sand.

Like before he never cared for marriage, he did not care for children either because it was his name he wanted to be etched into history. Elia’s moonblood has returned, but Mehmed is not willing to lay with her to get her with child so soon, not after everything he has learned today.

No, he’ll wait and if a child does come, to know that if it is a son – he shall have a mother that can help him secure the Moraqi throne should he wish so. For a daughter, she shall have limitless possibilities not just in Moraq but also in Dorne.

With all this, his anger is still prominent on his face and one of his guards notices it as he walks the hall towards his own rooms.

“Your Grace,” his guard simply states.

“I have need to have someone watching Lord Connington.”

Mehmed does not explain himself, nor does his Shadow Guard ask him why, but he knows that one of his guards has left his side in order to complete this task. From Elia and Ser Jaime’s own word, this man has insulted Elia plenty of times, one time too many in his opinion.

He remembers telling Elia that he can be a cruel man to his enemies, as far as he is concerned his vows to Elia were enacted the moment she agreed to the match. Why should he slack now, just because he has not donned her with the cloak of his house?

While he knows how to pleasure a woman and even men, he considers Elia a friend and should love blossom between them, then it shall be hard won. Where Rhaegar has failed, he shall succeed.

Mehmed hates the man on principle for mistreating Elia and mismanaging his kingdom.

On a personal level, he hates the man because he did not have to fight for his throne, all he had to do was be born a male and be born before his siblings to gain his throne. Even then, he would not begrudge the man for that because Doran inherited his kingdom, but now the Prince of Dorne has fought for it with blood and marriage betrothals. Rhaegar helped set his kingdom ablaze and it is the lack of respect for his own homeland that bristles him the most.

In Moraq, the empire is more important, because what is one man’s happiness and wants compared to the thousands that live under him?

“I shall pray then rest before the feast.” Mehmed dismisses his guard, before entering his room.

His mother is not here yet, so he shall confer with his gods as he unloads his mind to them, praying for guidance and patience to soothe the anger that lies under his heart.

He stands before the altar that he brings on his travels, he removes his turban and jewelry from his hands and kneels down on his mat, opening his heart for release.

Posted: 04/03/2020

Edited: 04/03/2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first thing I'm doing when this is all over, is going out for brunch and ordering crofts of mimosas. God, I am so ready. I miss having brunch in Fort Worth and enjoying my Sundays in peace.


	10. Made For Two Not One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elia and Lady Mara speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gave myself a pat on the back for reaching chapter 10. It feels like more but I am immensely pleased by the way this story is coming. It just flows, y'know? 
> 
> Apologies for the short chapter, but the wedding is coming next chapter and I wanted to save ALL the juicy stuff for chapter 11. This chapter is dialogue and background but I am dancing in my seat at all the drama that will go down in chapter 11. This chapter is pretty much a wrap up and reflection before the sails really get going.
> 
> I think for this story it will be around 25-35 chapters. Not too long and not too short. I already have the ending in mind, which will end with another tourney (cliche but it ends where it begins) and I am so eager to complete this story. Once I finish my final exams, I can probably manage two updates maybe three if I push it, a week. I want to complete this story before summer ends. So...yah.
> 
> Just another thank you for all the comments and kudos that are left and the reviews ya'll leave. You have no idea how much I enjoy reading your comments and the laughs I get from some of ya'll. 
> 
> Thank you.
> 
> Happy reading.  
> :)

Elia rearranged her skirt, as she waited for Sultana Mara, who referred to be called Lady Mara in private. Her hair flowed down her back and she paced in her solar, enjoying the sunlight and the offered warmth that came with it.

She was nervous, how could she not be when she was meeting the woman who raised the man, she would soon be sharing her bed with.

_Breathe, Elia._

Elia had only managed to take two calming breaths before she heard the knocks to her solar door. Using her right hand, she motioned for one of the servants to open the door and watched as Lady Mara walked forward, no nervousness to her steps. If anything, the sultana looked right at home, as she donned a gown that looked Dornish, but the colors and stitches were Moraqi.

The welcoming feast that was prepared for the Sultana of Moraq was small, with her family and the Moraqi guests, where words of greeting and interests were exchanged with one another. This will be the first time she speaks to Lady Mara alone and her anxiety is filling her with a slight apprehension.

Bowing her head slightly, Elia spoke out loud, “Your Grace.”

A laugh was all that Elia was given as Lady Mara walked closer, embracing Elia in a tight hug, that was soft and warm and for a moment she remembered the hugs her mother would give her as a child.

The burning sensation was fluttering across her face and then spreading to her chest as Elia chided herself, returning the hug with a small smile on her face.

In a way she wanted to laugh because based upon Lady Mara’s comments when she first arrived and at the feast, Elia found the sultana to be abrasive with a no-nonsense attitude.

“Nonsense. Just Lady Mara or Mara, please. Now let us speak and allow me to put any concerns you have to rest – for I am sure you have some.”

A sigh left her lips and she nodded her head, there would be no use in trying to lie about it. The Princess was still curious about her betrothed and while she knew mother’s protected their sons, for how could they not, she wanted to gauge Lady Mara and learn from the steed’s mouth on how she raised her son.

“It is just, Mehmed and Jade have spoken so highly of you and I find myself curious of not only that but also Mehmed. At times I think I have figured him out, but then a look can cross his face, or he will get a look in his eyes – I find myself lost once more. I just want to understand him.”

_Understand him in a way I did not Rhaegar. Heavens help me._

A servant prepared some wine and tea for them, along with fruits and nuts to eat upon as they sat in Elia’s solar.

“I know what it is like,” Lady Mara spoke after taking a sip from her cup of tea.

Elia’s eyes never left the sultana as she took her in, letting her internal thoughts range throughout her mind. She had a sinking feeling of what Lady Mara was going to speak on, so she remained quiet.

“I was just a girl when I met Mehmet, he ruled the province that I lived in. I was just a nobleman’s daughter, enjoying the sights of Jensia province. So beautiful my city is. Mehmet had spotted me and sought me out, first as a friend then as a bride. I had the choice, to choose him as my husband or find some lord and be satisfied with my lot in life.”

_How interesting. To choose and not yet know you would soon be helping rule over an entire empire. She chose love and helped her husband become something more than just a lord or pasha._

“But there was something about him, something that was so eager and peaceful. At the time I laughed myself silly for you will understand when you meet him. A peaceful man but a man who can kill his enemies in his sleep should he think them a danger to himself or Moraq. The duality of a man.”

Elia watched as a glass look appeared in Lady Mara’s eyes, as she spoke about her beginnings.

Elia listened with attention as she ate some fruit as the Lady Mara continued with her story.

“We married in Jensia, so beautiful our ceremony was. I became a pasha’s wife and picked up the duties expected of me. We had tried for a year for children and I realized I would not be the one to give my husband children. Mehmet and I came to an understanding, the women would be of my choice and how hard it was to choose women to lay with my husband. But I wanted children as did he.”

She can understand why Sultan Mehmet did not put his wife aside when she could not bear him children.

At this, Elia could see the pained expression cross the sultana’s face, something Elia had mirrored nigh year ago with her miscarriage with her son. The pain that came with knowing your womb has failed and so your husband has taken another, _but at least she had a choice._

_Oh, what I would have given to have had a choice, a voice that was listened to._

She did not bother to hide the ragged sigh that escaped her lips and she understands the dilemma that sultana faced.

“When my husband took the throne, I was behind him. Always as a guiding presence, a person he could confide into – of his wants and fears of our empire. What he wanted out of life before the gods called us for judgement. Mehmed being born was a balm for the both of us, especially when he came from Jaqulia province. He was such a sweet babe, my Mehmed.”

A smile danced across Lady Mara’s face, as Elia watched her remember a little boy who hugged onto her skirts and buried his head on her chest for comfort, just like her Deria does.

“I always knew, I even told Mehmet, I always knew my son was destined for great things. I could see it in his eyes, so brown like the earth after rainfall. The way he soaked up information and came up with plans and schemes for Moraq. My little man, I called him. Now he is a man, the man. My darling boy, the way he protects us. When Jade’s natural mother died and she was brought to us, Mehmed immediately demanded to hold her. The moment she was laid in his arms he promised her he would always protect her.”

At this, Lady Mara laughed, covering her mouth to keep the wine she had just drunk from spilling.

Elia had to smile too as she pictured Mehmed, for he was sweet with women and girls. Entertaining not only her daughter but also her nieces. Telling them tales of his adventures in Essos and Yi Ti where gold flows like water.

She can see it, a Mehmed who has laid eyes on his sister for the first time, for she was the same way with Oberyn. Always wanting to be near and watching over him even if they were a year apart.

“Jade, my Jade. Her mother died before naming her, but Jade was calm and so I named her after the Jade Sea. She was a quiet babe, but there was mischievous in her, that Mehmed only encouraged. Pulling her into his schemes and plans. If I knew Mehmed was destined for great things, then I also knew my daughter was not meant to remain in the east. Oh, how restless she would get some days. Pacing and wondering, I feared for her, especially when Halil Pasha schemed for her hand in marriage.”

The look that had crossed Mehmed’s face just days before, also crossed Lady Mara’s face and Elia realized it was a flash of anger that betrayed their calm exterior.

“Mehmed had sent his sister to Asshai. I wanted to rant and rave, for Asshai is not a place for children, but Jade went anyway. She adores her brother and took his words of concern to heart. So, my only daughter sailed away, while Mehmed turned his attention back to the throne. While my husband is sultan, a sultan cannot just sit their son on the throne. It is hard fought and won. So, my son went back to his plans, improving and empowering Jaqulia province. He passed his imperial exams and then set out on campaign.”

Elia knows about Halil Pasha, the man who did not think Mehmed was worthy, wanting instead to use Jade to the throne instead. But Elia now knows, it is because Mehmed has a mind of his own, he will not be controlled by honeyed words nor gold.

“Mehmed has spoken of this before,” Elia offered wanting to spare Lady Mara any pain at remembering her daughter having been sent away.

_No mother wants to be separated from their child._

This thought gives insight to another aspect of Mehmed to Elia. She wonders what that was like, for a son to tell their mother they are sending away not only their sister but a mother’s daughter also. For Mehmed was five when he met Lady Mara, but Jade was a babe when she was brought, and Lady Mara was all Jade knew as a mother.

Then she thinks about how Mehmed spoke about his mother not forgiving him, should he separate Elia from Deria.

_It makes me all the fonder of him. Like brothers and even the brother of my heart, Ser Jaime, Mehmed is a man of his word._

“Yes, I am sure he has. It was a painful time, but I put my emotions aside and helped my son. Sending him money from my own family’s coffer to endorse his bid at war with the Dothraki.

The tale continued, of the two attempts Mehmed made for the throne, each time ending in disaster before he finally gained a foothold in the third attempt with success.

“My son keeps his father as co-ruler because he knows he still has a lot to learn, especially towards patience but I imagine that is why you were chosen by our gods.”

_Imagine if Rhaegar and Aerys tried to rule together, gods help Westeros. They would have killed each other. Sides, the Iron Throne is made for one man, not two._

Elia shook her head at the thought and laughed silently to herself before sobering.

“There are days I am more like Doran then Oberyn, where my Martell temperament runs more than the Gargalen in me.”

While Elia knows she is in the middle between Doran and Oberyn, her calm compared to Doran is not as eerily silent. Oh, she can stew, but hers is like water. Her fury does not blaze like Oberyn’s instead it slowly enraptures and then burns.

“That is good. I got away from my original point though, I understand you Elia I do. The difference between us is that I had the choice. I got the choice to choose my husband bedwarmers. They gave him children, but they did not remain. If they had not died, I would have allowed contact to be kept but alas, that is a moot point. I am thankful for Mehmet, for giving me Mehmed and Jade. I raised them at my knee and now I can toast myself for who they are now.”

Lady Mara does indeed raise her cup and toasts herself which Elia laughs at.

“You should toast yourself Elia. For how many women can say that after their husband supplanted them, they return to their homeland a princess but will leave a queen, a sultan, an empress?”

Elia knows she will be coronated not once but twice, once here in Dorne and another in Moraq when Sultan Mehmet steps down as co-ruler and Mehmed rules as sole sultan.

“I never thought about it like that before.” She murmurs.

_I was just glad for my daughter and I to be alive. I did not dare think to ask the gods for more._

“Raise your cup Elia. It will be the first many will raise in cheers for you.”

Elia watched as the wine sloshed around the rim and she cannot keep the grin off her face, because Lady Mara is right to say that most women who have been supplanted cannot call themselves queen.

She drinks the wine eagerly, enjoying the taste of it and the smile that passes her lips is filled with mirth and eagerness.

For in the beginning, Elia was just glad someone wanted her hand after everything that happened. She had thought a Dornish match or even a Braavosi merchant prince, but her brother has helped her secured something better.

“For my brother Doran. To others he can be cold, but I know he loves me and our family. My big brother.”

It is easy to toast Doran because it is only now after everything that has happened to her, does Elia realize the magnitude of what Doran has undertaken.

Breaking away from the Iron Throne, pursuing a match that is worthy of not only her but Oberyn also. She wonders how long in the night does he stay in his solar, scheming away to find machinations to fit into his plans. For now, new agriculture is being brought into Dorne, new alliances are made, and our family is growing. Elia does know that Mellario is more receptive and eager to help her husband, for she has sent word to Norvos and soon Norvosi ladies will also fill Sunspear’s court along with Moraqi, Lengii and Yitish ladies for Jade.

Elia thinks back to when she was in Doran’s solar not long ago and he studied her face, speaking of her glowing and she cannot help but smile at the thought and try to dislodge the lump she finds in her throat. He was worried about her, mayhaps thinking she was not pleased but he seemed pleasantly surprised that she spoke about her fondness for Mehmed and their match.

Doran has always been the silent type but when he does speak, he can be charismatic in ways others are not.

_Is that what he was looking for, when he studied me? Am I happy? I do not know but I am more content and satisfied then I have been since I left Dorne the first time. That has to amount to something._

A newfound appreciation has settled in her heart for not just Doran but also Oberyn. Elia would not change her brothers nor her family for anything in the world, because Doran sent troops for her, in order to stay Aery’s hand. Her uncle laid down his life for her and Oberyn kept her standing when she thought she would fall. Even the brother of her heart Jaime kept her standing when she received the blow that Rhaegar gave her.

The appreciation she has for the men in her life, dead or alive makes her chest tighten as she tries to keep her breath even.

She does not notice the tear that slips from her eye until Lady Mara wipes it away with a timid smile.

“You appreciate family like I do. Mehmed will need that, for he loves his family fiercely. Every niece and nephew, his cousins across the water. He is one man at the forefront of an empire, but he needs the pillar of support, no matter how strong he is. Will you be that for my son, Elia? Will you be that for the empire I will be entrusting you with? Tell me now.”

A choice.

Elia is being given a choice because if she answers no, she knows that her betrothal shall end, and Lady Mara will find another bride for her son. Elia knows that Dorne is already secure with Oberyn and Jade’s betrothal, but it is Elia’s that shall solidify Dorne as its own powerhouse. To attach and marry herself to a sultan.

It is Elia’s choice and she feels the responsibility of not just Dorne but also Moraq already. For she knows Mehmed has plans, he has spoken to her of them of what he wants for his empire.

It is the same way she feels for Dorne, because Dorne has always been spitted on. It is not revenge against those who look down on herself nor her homeland, but it is the subtle thought of vengeance. Of an even exactment of what Dorne is due, which makes the answer out of her mouth easy.

“Yes.”

_How simple that three lettered word is, yet it hangs in the air as if it was heralded._

“Let them see and weep Elia. I have seen the crown that Mehmed has had the smiths working on. I am sure your parents will weep at the thought of their daughter being crowned in her own country. I will be honest and tell you what you already know or perhaps suspect. There is a darkness in Mehmed, the kind of darkness that will strike at his enemies with swift exactness and will not be merciful. For you only need to look at his enemies who died at his feet to know that.”

Just like Lady Mara did yesterday with Oberyn, she has done the same to Elia as she grabs ahold of Elia’s face, gently and peers into her dark eyes.

“However, I know there is a darkness in you too. Oh yes, how can there not be? Scorned and belittled and thrown aside like a dried-up rag that a whore uses after a man has made a mess of her.”

Elia can feel her eyes grow big at Lady Mara’s uncouth words. Her mouth opens but she does not dare refute her claims.

_It is true, Rhaegar treated my daughter and I like nothing more than a rag to be thrown away._

She can feel the rising of shame within her body and her eyes are casted down, but Lady Mara does not release her face, until she steadies it. Their eyes meeting once more, a mixture of amethyst and emerald meeting the onyx abyss.

“Mayhaps that is why my son followed the advice of our gods. Who else to temper the darkness in him then one who has gotten so good at hiding her own? Hm? Do not fret Elia, my sweet daughter. There is a darkness in us all, that emerges but we must be careful that we do not remain in it for long else it will consume us. I am glad that you have made your choice. There will be difficult times ahead for the time of peace like a child’s innocence has long since faded away.”

Elia can feel Lady Mara’s thumbs wiped across her face, getting rid of the silent tears that has fallen.

“No more tears, Elia. The time has passed, and the time has come.”

_‘No more tears Elia’, those are the words Mehmed spoke to me._

“Yes, of course.”

Elia’s face is released, and she matches that smile that Lady Mara gives her, so sweet and simple and she is once more reminded of her mother and there is a soft pang for Rhaella also, but she cannot dwell in the past.

“Tell me Princess, has Mehmed introduced Moraqi eagles to you?”

Posted: 04/10/2020

Edited: 04/10/2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be safe and sanitized throughout this quarantine. 
> 
> I have one more writing assignment left for my History of Psyc. course and then I'll be done, outside of two final exams. Which means more writing, so I will be so very happy about that.


	11. Children of the Sun & Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The weddings of Princess Elia and Prince Oberyn of House Nymeros Martell. The sun and the moon converge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the second half of this chapter, definitely recommend listening to 'The Light' by The Album Leaf, I wrote that half listening to that song, definitely set the mood for me.
> 
> Man listen, lol whew sometimes I write research papers and when I finish I'll be like "damn, I really went tf off." That's how I feel about this chapter especially the second part. LMAO.
> 
> Happy reading folks!

Steam caressed Elia’s face as she leaned back into the tub, relaxing her muscles as she drowned out the noises littering around her in the chamber.

Her curls were pinned atop her head, her hair would be washed last with scented oils. Today was the day, she would say vows and be taken into matrimony before her country and people. A part of her was excited but even she could not still the fluttering and tightening in her heart.

Lady Mara had thrown herself into the preparations with Mellario as Jade and herself were sequestered into their halls as the time grew near. Mellario and Lady Mara told them that they did not want the beauty of it ruined.

Elia and Mehmed would take their vows first and she would be crowned, then Oberyn and Jade would exchange their vows in front of the septon. No one had wanted to have the two ceremonies on different days, the palace was chaotic enough with just one.

Elia leaned forward as Ashara beckoned her so she could scrub her back, the smell of gazanias and roses filled her nostrils and she relaxed at the scent. A smile formed on her lips because ever since Mehmed found out that gazanias were Elia’s favorite flower, he would have some cut and brought to her for her baths and oils.

“Are you nervous?” Ashara asked, as her friend unpinned her hair, letting her curls fall into the water as she grabbed a small bowl to dip into the water to begin washing her hair.

“Terribly so, I must admit.” Elia responded, cupping her hands and throwing water on her face.

“Do you fear him?” Ashara had begun to wash Elia’s arms but her eyes remained on Elia’s face, trying to decipher something.

“No. I know he will not harm me like Rhaegar or Arthur. He cares for me and my daughter even if we are friends.” There was more that Elia wanted to say, but she does not out of fear that thinking of those two men will cause her attitude to flux and she rather not have her day ruined.

So, she banishes them from her mind.

_Today is for me. My family grows and I shall not let those ghosts linger and fest in my mind._

Elia patted her friend’s hand as she picked up a second cloth and began cleaning her lower region, taking care of the dark shaved patch of curls between her thighs and stomach.

When she stepped out of the tub, a cotton cloth was brought, soaking in the wetness of her skin and she felt the smoothness of her skin and the faint scent of her bath and oils lingering. Elia sat down as Ashara brushed through her hair and the other ladies in her chambers began bringing forth jewelry and her wedding gown.

When she was first married, she was adorned in the colors of House Nymeros Martell, but this time her gown was gold, not only for the spear of her house but also for the field of her father’s house, Gargalen.

Her lehenga gown was perfection in its entirety and Elia was glad to know all the effort that Lady Jordayne, Toland and her cousin Lady Gargalen had put into it would be showed when she arrived in the sept.

On the left breast of her choli, Elia herself had embroidered the Martell sigil, but then had the cockatrice claws of House Gargalen surrounding the spear and sun while the black serpent circled the whole thing. It would showcase that she was not just the daughter of Lorenza Nymeros Martell but also the beloved daughter of Maron Gargalen who was his wife’s sword, spear and shield.

It occurred to Elia that ever since her conversation with the Lady Mara, she has been thinking about her brothers and father more. Doran would be walking her down the aisle as he had done the first time, but the trepidation she felt about not knowing the groom was no where within her now.

Doran had kept his word not only to their mother and father but also to Dorne, Elia knew her brother would be solidified in his rule for this alone. Ruling Prince, brother to the once Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, now soon to be Sultana of Moraq. Doran was now Prince of Dorne, keeping to the Rhyonar tradition of using Prince or Princess for royal titles. He is bringing his kingdom to the precipice of a new age with all the machinations of Essos behind him – he shall be remembered well. 

No one could deny that Elia was proud of her family, almost a little smug too but how could she not be?

Her hands flittered across the skirt that was a part of her lehenga, which had a black serpent embroidered on the bottom of her skirts, as it would circle her feet once she was dressed.

“Your curls shine like the sun, Elia.” Ashara had put down the brush that Elia’s mother had given her when she was just a young girl.

Her cousin, Myria Gargalen had begun to hand Elia jewelry, the first being her nose ring that laid gently against her as Elia lifted her hands to attach it to the earring that dangled from her ear. Her earrings were circle in size but large and golden with rubies encrusted on the outer edges.

As Lady Lerra Jordayne beckoned Elia to lift her right foot then her left as her skirt was raised then settled against her hips. Elia took a moment to enjoy the texture of the fabric against her skin, so silky and soft before she motioned for her choli to be brought over.

It fit snugly against the small amount of breast she had, pushing them upright to give the appearance that they were larger than what they seemed. Everything about her attire was made to enhance her beauty, no longer the sickly and frail princess she once was as a child. She had been removed as the Princess of the Seven Kingdom and she would allow her guests to see that she is not some saddened harpy. Elia would flaunt the jewels that she has been given not just by her brothers but also Mehmed.

No, when she was crowned today, she would showcase that the time she spent away in the Water Gardens was put to good use. The weight she had gained had filled out her face that no longer looked haunted and gaunt. The time spent walking the Gardens and even practicing her bridal dance had toned her figure and she fervently hoped that Mehmed would be pleased; not just with her bridal dance but also what she had planned for the bedding.

Elia would rather keep her new husband’s eye then allow it to stray to any other, but she imagines that if Mehmed ever get the idea to attempt to, should she send someone to kill the lady who caught his eye, she would not be blamed. That was something she could appreciate about Moraq, Elia will never have her status threatened again or she shall take it upon herself to remove any threats.

Lerra and Myria had stepped away, turning her towards the looking glass and Elia had frozen for a moment.

_Now I am truly a Princess of the Sun._

Elia was well rested and while her heart kept fluttering, there was a certain giddiness that underlined it. For her story was that of redemption and vindication; she would always feel indebt not only to her brothers but also Mehmed, because without them she would not be here now. While she may have done the heavy work like a mule in the fields, they were a respite that she used to gather herself. 

Her black curls hung to her waist, with no intricate design except for two small braids at the corner of her head that met in the middle of her head and were tied in the back with red, orange and yellow beads.

She stared at herself for a moment longer, infinitely pleased by the woman she saw in her reflection before she turned her head as a knock could be heard on the tall door.

“Elia, it is your brother who has come to escort you to the sept.” Ashara called out.

Taking one last glance in her looking glass, Elia stepped away still feeling her chest tightened with nerves.

When she met Doran outside her apartments, the smile that stretched her face could not be held back even if she tried.

“You look just like papa,” she stated as she took in her elder brother’s appearance. Her hands drifted upward to smooth out his doublet even though it was impeccable.

At this Doran just gave her one of his secretive smiles, that if she was not his sister it would have made her ponder but she knows Doran as well as she knows Oberyn who was her shadow growing up.

Doran was dressed in the standard Rhyonar flare, his crown of the spear and sun sitting on his head.

_He looks graceful, ever playing the part of the prince._

“You look stunning sister. I was afraid that you would have bags under your eyes.”

Elia stared deadpanned at her brother before she laughed out heartily. Her right arm was looped with his left one as they made their way down the hall, her ladies following her.

“You can be the charming prince but when you say blunt words like that, you are truly the son of Meria Martell.” The Yellow Toad was infamous with her sharp and blunt words, obviously her brother had inherited that.

Doran peered down at her and gave her a chuckle that did not sound as strained as it was before. Elia knows that both these weddings are one less thing for her brother to worry about. When they take leave for the bedding, Doran will be able to relax to know that he has the backing of an empire behind Dorne.

“I have learned that sometimes honeyed words are not enough and that speaking blunt can be needed just as well.”

The sept was not far away now and as her ladies walked ahead of them to take their seats within the sept, Elia grabbed her brother’s arm to make him stop.

He seemed worried as if Elia was having second thoughts, but she waved her hand away for she would not waver to her commitment. Not when she gave her word to Lady Mara that she would take up the mantle as Sultana of Moraq.

“I do not think I have ever thanked you, truly for everything you have done for me Doran. I am sorry that it has taken me now to do so. I know, I know that it must have been very hard for you to take up the seat of our house especially when papa died, and mama mourned him. For though I remember our father’s face, often if I dream, your face and his blur together. When I was just a sickly girl, you brought me books. You once told me that just because I was frail in body I would not be so in mind and spirit. You could have married me off to some second son, but you did not. I thank you, Doran. Truly I do. For not only myself and my daughter but also for Oberyn and our nieces. For Dorne. When I sail east, I will not have to fear for my homeland for I know Dorne is in capable hands. I am thankful and I am proud of you. I know that our ancestors are proud that their son is leading Dorne.”

Elia blinked away the tears that threatened to fall and she placed a gentle kiss to her brother’s face. Her hands squeezed his arm, as he nodded his head, his startled face relaxing as he returned her kiss.

_Is has taken me too long to say those words, but least I have said them. Better now than never._

“As I am of you, sister. Just as that black serpent circling your heart,” he pointed to her embroidery, “you have shed your old skin and now look at you.”

They collected themselves before they turned towards the door and Elia could hear music playing. The guards bowed their heads and then opened the sept’s doors, as Doran and Elia entered in unison.

The sept was beautiful, as everything shined, for she knew servants had been hard at work scrubbing the floors in order to make the sept look grand for the guests that populated it now. Elia saw Lady Mara standing with Mellario and her haggle of nieces and her daughter that held Lady Mara’s hand. Elia knows that Lady Mara had been all too happy with Deria, as she had began teaching her Moraqi words and played with Deria when she wanted to watch her birds fly.

Oberyn and Jade stood next to one another and Oberyn winked at her, as she walked down the aisle and she also took notice of Ser Jaime who had been given a seat near her family. He looked happy for her and she flashed him a brief smile before she looked ahead towards the raised steps where Mehmed was waiting.

The tightening in her chest did not release as she took him in. He did not wear the typical doublet she would see him dressed in. He wore a black kaftan that stopped just below his knees where his trousers matched the darkness of his katan. Gold and silver embroidered was outlined in the threads throughout his gown. On his head was not the usual white felt horasani that he wore but instead it was gold, one half lay folded back and hung gently in the rear.

_He looks majestic. So handsome._

Doran carefully removed the Martell cloak from her shoulders and Elia felt naked without it, she almost wanted to reach back and take it back, but she did not for such a thing would be unbecoming of her.

When Doran had let his arm droop away before guiding her hand into Mehmed’s Elia felt relief at the familiar touch of him. The tightening that had resided in her chest began to loosen as she looked at Mehmed, watching him take her in just as she did him.

Her lips twitched because it reminded her of the first time they had met, where they both studied each other and had been courteous to one another.

But alas that time has passed, because they have had long conversations not only personal but of imperial matters; of the kisses they have shared and the desire to be friends above all else lest they be miserable with one another.

Elia can appreciate Mehmed more then she had when she first met him because she knows him, or at least knows enough of him to be comfortable in his presence and bring her daughter with her whenever they sit for lunch.

Mayhaps that is why she is comfortable now, for she is marrying a friend. A person who makes her laugh and enjoys speaking with her daughter who has slowly began to unwind with the man that shall soon be her stepfather.

“Elia, you are beautiful, but I am not surprised, for when are you not?” Mehmed spoke so softly; Elia was afraid she would miss his words.

“You look dazzling yourself,” because it was not a lie. His height only enhanced the clothing that he wore, as his tanned skin from his days in the training yard looked honeyed under the blackness of his attire.

The septon then stepped forward, as he began the ceremony and the guests had quieted. Elia had recited her vows back to Mehmed and then pledge herself with a kiss.

Mehmed and Elia had exchanged many kisses, but if she had to make a list of her favorites then mayhaps this kiss would be along the top with the kiss they shared at the beach that faced the Sea of Dorne.

The clapping was a roar in Elia’s ears as she leaned away from her husband.

_Husband._

Just as Elia did the first time Mehmed gave her bid to use his name instead of his royal titles, she tasted the word ‘husband’ on her lips. Her lips quirked upward, pleased with how it felt to think those words.

Elia felt dazed as she watched Mehmed raise his hand and beckoned a servant to step forward, the crowd was hushed once more in confusion. She knew that no one outside of her family believed this to be anything else then a double marriage ceremony.

She could hear some murmurs because she did not have the cloak of her husband’s upon her shoulders, but it was with reason.

A servant stepped forward with a pillow that housed a crown that sat waiting upon it. Her breath hitched when she studied the crown; it was made of spears that instead of being pointed upright, they were pointed outwards – made of gold as was the circlet. In the middle of the spears laid a sun, with a silver crescent moon laying upon it. The sun was made up of a large ruby and Elia wondered how the smiths were able to flatten it and make it so circular. Then there was a blackness of a snake that circled the circlet, with it mouth facing the part of the sun was uncovered while the tail faced the moon.

Elia did not know what made up the blackness of the snake, but its eyes were silver like the moon and her hands twitched to touch it – mayhaps later when she undressed for her bedding, she could study it more.

Elia caught Mehmed’s eyes, for when she had asked about the crown, he would never tell him, he would just look at her with warmth in his eyes before continuing with his duties.

For this she is glad, because this surprise is a welcome one. It is different than the tiara she wore in King’s Landing.

_Everything is different now Elia, you know that._

This was why there was no cloak from her husband’s house, not that Moraq practice the Faith anyway. Because what use did she have for a cloak, when her husband was giving her a crown?

None.

Elia made a move to kneel but Mehmed’s hands upon her arms stilled her.

“You never need to kneel to me; you are my wife. I need you not at my feet but by my side.” He whispered to her before he released her arms and grabbed ahold of her crown. It sparkled under the lights of the sept, which entranced Elia even more.

“Princess Elia Martell, my wife, my sultana.” Mehmed spoke loudly to let his words be heard by all within the sept.

He gently laid the crown upon her head, as it sat snuggly upon it and Elia then realizes he must have taken the measurements from the tiara and circlets she has previously wore in Dorne.

Once her crown is firmly upon her head, a Moraqi seneschal immediately heralds, “The Sultan and Sultana of Moraq!”

Elia watched in awe as the Moraqi side of the sept bowed their heads, including Lady Mara and Jade. The Dornish soon followed, and Elia took care to cement this image into her mind for later comfort.

No, Dorne would not have another Dornish queen sitting on the Iron Throne, but instead they will have a Dornish queen in Moraq who shall work in earnest with not just her husband but brothers to ensure that Dorne blooms like a flower under a dawning sun.

Mehmed raised her left hand and slipped a ring upon her fourth finger, which was odd because Westerosi women did not have rings to signify their marriages just the titles.

Her ring was no less daunting then her crown, as it was made up of silver and gold, appearing like vines that held a large pearl that was circled by small diamonds.

Elia was pleased, as Mehmed looped her arm through his as they made their way down the steps and towards her family where she gave a genuine smile and bent down to kiss her daughter who was staring at her with wide eyes before offering her a sweet dimpled smile.

Elia watched as Jade and Oberyn ascended the stairs for their own exchange of vows. By now her heart had settled with the security of not just a crown on her head but also the ring on her finger.

Jade gown was as white as snow, with gold embroidered throughout that showed golden wings, with silver crescent moons stitched on her gown. The black waves that made her hair shine in the light, as a silver hair net laid against it, as she wore her tiara that had a large crescent moon resting on her forehead.

Her bodice cupped her breasts which allowed the skin of her stomach to show, as flat as ever, which led her skirts that clung tightly to her body which only enhanced her Lengii features.

Oberyn just like Doran wore the Rhyonar fashion, except he left his doublet open to show off the skin of his chest. Oberyn wore his circlet that housed the sun and spear banded in gold, that matched the jewelry circling his wrists.

After they kissed, the crowd erupted into cheers and then Elia felt herself truly relaxed as she clapped her hands and stood proudly as she watched her brother and now new sister.

* * *

The feast was loud and rambunctious, as course after course was served, four different kingdoms showed throughout. The spiced snake that the Dornish favored that was served with honey and the braised chicken and beef from Moraqi, along with the sweet buns from Yi Ti and fried squid from Leng.

What was not eaten would be given out to the people of Dorne who had come far and wide to celebrate the marriages of their Prince and Princess.

Elia had eaten a little, but she did not want to eat too much out of fear for her bridal dance and being bloated when the time came for it. She took nimble bites out of her food, enjoying the sweet buns she ate with the spiced snake. 

Ser Jaime had already come to her to wish her well wishes and she told him she shall be doing the same too for his own wedding to his Hightower bride. This only earned her a smile and faint blush across his golden skin. 

She had taken great care to not let her hands drift to her crown, to not be a blushing girl but she was most eager to return to her apartments and admire it in privacy. For throughout the night she has had people staring at it, but Mehmed was always by her side, answering any questions about the craft of it. He mostly spoke about who crafted it and now exactly what it was made of. 

Elia had been sitting on the raise dais when Ashara made her way over, whispering in her ear about the bridal dance and Elia took off her saree and laid it against the chair she formerly occupied to be reclaimed later.

The music had dwindled from the typical Dornish flare to something more relax albeit seductive in nature. For the bridal dance was a chance for the ladies in Elia’s household to show themselves to any available lords or knights and mayhaps gain a bid for their hand. 

As the music begin, Elia made sure to find Mehmed’s eyes, as she dipped and curved her body like a snake that resided in a basket, being called out by a flute to enchant an audience.

Her ladies had practiced this dance for over a moon, the steps came as easy as a fish in water as they moved around the square the tables for the feast had made. Her hair swung as she twisted her hips and moved in a circular motion towards Lady Janice Toland, as they began forming two separate lines, six ladies per line.

Her lehenga skirts flirted around her ankles before she positioned her feet and began to spin, using her arms as a balance as she caught the black and gold colors of her skirts. While she could see all this in her peripheral vision, she made sure to keep her eyes on Mehmed’s who was just sitting in his seat, staring at her and she wondered if he blinked whenever she would dip and curve her body – for he would stare at her wholly and undeterred.

A small part of Elia felt like a child again, dancing in the Water Gardens with her friends, as random music played from the Rhoynish drums and flute. Elia could only hope that when her daughter married, she could recall happy childhood memories on her wedding day. There was something that dwelled in Elia that just wanted Deria to forget the life she had before, as Elia had wanted to forget everything about her years in the capital but the memories laid dormant and haunting within her own mind. Mayhaps she was being selfish with such thoughts and so she silenced them as she kept dancing.

As the music slowly began to die out, Elia dipped for the final time, her crown never moving nor loosening upon her head, as she heard the crowd clap and cheer for them – admiring their dance skills and the musicians who played the seductive fiery song.

When she arrived back at the dais, Mehmed had offered her a cup of wine, allowing her to take a breath and drink eagerly as she waited for her heart to calm and still.

Elia sat back in her seat, enjoying the festivities as she brought pieces of fruits to her lips, enjoying the taste of the tartness that acted as a counterbalance to the sweet Lengii wine she had just consumed.

Mehmed leaned over and brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear and she turned towards his touch like a kitten purring for attention.

They spoke in whispered tones before Lady Mara had walked in front of the dais from where she had come from, no longer sitting with them upon it.

Mehmed and Elia had shared the center with Jade and Oberyn, as Doran and Mellario sat to the left of Oberyn while Lady Mara had sat on the right with Mehmed. Ser Jaime and Lord Stannis had sat with one another and they had spoken at length with Doran and Mehmed earlier, but Elia was sure she would know about what some time tomorrow. As Lord Stannis looked much more relaxed then he was earlier when he first arrived.

Elia did not know if she ever met a man as dour as her Stormlands cousin, no matter their distant ancestry but the presence of his wife, Selyse Florent was not a boon for him in anyway. Elia herself could hear Lady Selyse mutterings every now and then, but after a hard glare from her lord husband she remained silent.

Lady Mara looked stunning, but Elia has come to realize that she looks stunning every day. She stood before them, with two servants holding a large chest that had been set down in front of her and faced the dais.

The music had been quieted and Lady Mara began to speak, her voice echoing out to the crowd.

“Let me give a welcome from the Empire of Moraq to the independent kingdom of Dorne. When I first heard the news of my son and daughter seeking marriages with Dorne, I began searching for a gift that would express the hope and eagerness not just I have but Moraq has with these marriages. I know that when Maron Martell sought peace for Dorne, he gained a dragon bride in Daenerys Targaryen. His gift to her was the Water Gardens, to make her feel welcome in his homeland.”

Elia watched as Lady Mara motioned for one of the men who had brought forth the chest to open it and if she was a betting woman, the only thing that could be heard was the faint sounds outside the palace hall.

Within the chest sat three dragon eggs, each a different color but beautiful in their own way: from black, to yellow to green.

Elia was at a lost for words, because she had not seen any dragon eggs in her time at Dragonstone, she wondered where Lady Mara has found these eggs and why give them to her family for these eggs must be a fortune.

“Moraq, welcomes you. Three dragons eggs for the children of the sun and dragon.”

At this the hall began to go up in loud noises as people clamored to see dragon eggs in the flesh. The men picked up the chest and brought it closer to the dais where Lady Mara rejoined them, sitting back down with Elia as she leaned towards her to whisper conspiratorially.

“Let them see and weep Elia.” Her new good mother spoke before she laughed, and Elia joined in with her. For she knows that once Ser Jaime, Lord Stannis and Connington leave, Connington especially shall cry to Rhaegar about the gifts bestowed upon her family.

When the crowd had enough of the sight, all three of the Martell siblings stood in front of the chest, running their hands over the eggs in awe and feeling the scales then encased the petrified yolks.

Even her nieces and daughter touched the eggs before they were sent off to bed as the evening grew later and the clouds began to change colors.

Elia had walked back over to the dais, wanting to rest her feet a bit for she had taken many dance partners and all she wanted now was to lay down and get some rest. She felt as though all the excitement of not just today but the moons before had finally crashed upon her shoulders.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Elia?” When she met his eyes, they were not the usual brown she has become acquainted with, but they seemed darker so much like her own onyx eyes.

“Very much so, husband” Elia quipped, enjoying the word that has been dancing on her tongue since she took him as hers just hours ago.

“I am glad to know so. You have been dancing the night away, would you care for one last one before you make your way to our chambers?”

Elia gave him a smile and a nod, her feet feeling a bit better as she had sat for a while before putting her hand into his as he led their way back to the floor, the music had changed to a Moraqi tune and Elia was surprised to see Lady Mara playing on her guzheng.

It was a sweet song; she would hold a note before releasing it and then enter another long note before drawing it into a short one.

“I told you I would make you a queen. The time has come.” He spoke lowly in her ear and Elia leaned back into his touch, where his hand had rested on the skin of her back.

Elia has seen Mehmed spar with both Doran and Oberyn, but she is glad to note that as graceful and poise as he is with the skill of the blade, the same can be said about his skill with dance.

“Yes, you did-” her words were cut off by an interruption from the man she did not want to see at all.

Elia had taken great pains to avoid the man in front of her, his red hair clashing quite ugly with the colors that adorned the hall.

Her body had become rigid under Mehmed’s touch and she swallowed down the revulsion that she had for Jon Connington.

_Oh, why Jaime, did you not push this man from your sails? I should have prayed to the Drowned God to unleash a kraken and have it take Connington into the bowels of the sea._

“Your Graces. May I offer you my well wishes for your marriage.”

Elia’s eyes began to narrow at the way Connington had gritted out those words. _False pleasantries and he does not even try to honey them. Shame._

Elia offers nothing but a kiss to Mehmed’s cheek before leaving, not wanting to be around Connington anymore than necessary. It makes for an opportune moment to slip away from the party where she knows Ashara has placed a new bath in front of the fire for her to keep warm until she enters her new chambers.

After visiting her daughter for the night and wishing her a good night’s rest, Elia finds herself alone. She dismissed her maids, once they helped her remove her jewelry and lehenga, but she does not allow them to touch her crown, no for she shall remove that for herself.

A good portion of her things have been placed inside Mehmed’s apartments as she locates the red satin shift that has been laid on the bed for her to wear tonight.

Standing naked, she removed her crown and steps towards the fire to see all the details that Mehmed has put forth as she traces the spears and snake with her index finger.

_It is fine craftsmanship, some of the best I have ever seen._

Yet Elia still cannot place what material nor gem that makes up the black snake that circles her crown.

“I shall ask him when he returns,” she speaks quietly into the room as she places her crown onto a table near her bath.

As she lowers herself into the bath she is pleased to note that the blazing fire has kept it nice and warm and she takes the dry cloth and begins cleaning her face to rid away the kohl that had been applied around her eyes. Considering what will happen tonight she takes great effort to scrub every orifice and scrub her scalp and hair to rid herself of the scent of the feast and day.

Elia soaks in the tub for awhile massaging her own legs and arms to rid herself from all the tension that is slowly building within her. When she steps out of the tub she chews on some mint and then rinses with mint water to cleanse out all the aftertaste of her evening meal.

Taking care, she applies lightly scented macadamia nut oil onto her skin, that softens and moisturizes it as the cotton cloth she had used to dry her body was now used for her hair.

The red satin shift has two thin straps hanging on her shoulders that allow it to fall across her skin, moving like water when she sits down and brushes out her hair.

Her chambers, well now her and Mehmed’s chamber is very quiet so she takes to singing softly as she brushes out her hair.

The only sounds in the chamber are of her voice and the sound of her brush bristling through her hair.

When the door opens, she is slightly startled but smiles when she sees it is just Mehmed. The smile falters though when he does not return it with his usual tug at the lips that is neither a full smile nor half one.

“Mehmed, what is wrong?” she asks, as she walks toward him once he closes the door.

As he steps forward his hands reach out towards her and she notices some blood on it. The smile that had faltered is now immediately gone, as she rushes back toward the area where the tub sits. Dipping her discarded cotton cloth into the warm water as she sits Mehmed down onto their bed and rubs away at his hands.

Her hands trace over his, wondering where this blood has come from, only when she cleans away the blood does, he answers her.

“Nothing is wrong Elia, just had to tie up some loose ends before joining you. I apologize for the wait.”

At this she raises an eyebrow, not at all impressed by his answer. She does not push him, but she knows her facial expression betrays the words she does not say.

“You once told me Jon Connington treated you with disdain along with Deria. You both were not mine when he did so, but I think I would be remiss if I allowed a man who once dared feign to insinuate you were a whore to leave this kingdom unscathed.”

“What did you do?” she licks her lips after she asks the question, her eyes boring into his.

“My mother always taught me that loose tongues are easy to lose. Sometimes it is best to be seen and not heard.”

Elia immediately recalls Lady Mara’s words about how Sultan Mehmet took a man’s tongue for speaking untoward the sultana.

Her hand covers her mouth, before her laugh slips through for she cannot hold it in.

Mehmed reaches forward gingerly, pulling her onto his lap for he is always gentle with Elia in a way she appreciates not only with her but also her daughter.

His hands cup her face as they are ought to do whenever he speaks to her in private, she thinks he likes the shape of her face with her high cheekbones and soft jaw.

“I see it in you Elia, you hide it well. But you just as I, like to know that our enemies, those who dare rise against us are thoroughly put back in their place. Before you did not have the means to punish those. Yet here I am.”

_The darkness._

If Elia thought to be ashamed, then she would not let it be so, for how can she be ashamed of the truth? Mehmed has done something that Elia has wished to do from the moment she met Connington. The way he way insulted her and her own kinsmen and country, Rhaegar would only cajole him every once in awhile but never enough for Connington to learn to keep silent on matters that did not concern him.

_Now he has no tongue, no more loose words shall fall from those lips. The rooster shall not crow any longer._

“Thank you,” she whispers before settling her hands on his kaftan, slowly unbuttoning it.

Elia continues on, “while he may live, I am satisfied to know that I need not hear his words any longer – that is sufficient enough.”

Her hands make quick work and she dispatches his kaftan to the floor, before loosening the sash that held his trousers to his waist.

Elia slips off her slippers as she moves towards the head of the bed, as she watches Mehmed undress. Her breathing feels heavier and her lower region tightens in anticipation.

Mehmed stands before her naked now before he climbs into bed, he takes care to allow his hands to touch everywhere he can, from the soles of her feet to her ankles. His hands move slowly under her gown and she can feel herself growing warm and wet.

There is no talking as his large hands begin to push her satin gown up towards her hips, exposing her olive toned legs. Once the gown settles at her hips she leans forward and he pulls it off her, throwing it behind him where his kaftan and trousers lay on the floor along with their discarded slippers.

Her hands immediately seek his hair, as she finds that she adores his teak colored curls very much so. They are as soft as hers but in a much wilder way whenever he removes his horasani.

He spreads her legs open and settles himself on his haunches as she watches him watch her – drinking each other in.

Her chest is rising and falling quickly and while she can hear her heart beating in her own ears, she wonders if he can hear it out loud too.

Elia shivers under the soothing circles he rubs on her thighs, as he peers down between her legs. She is not shy for she is no maiden; she shall not deign to play one either.

“In the morning you shall drink a new tea like the Westerosi moon tea but much gentler on a woman’s body. There shall be no babies made today for I am not in need of any children outside of the one we currently have. We shall enjoy the pleasures of the flesh and see where it leads in the coming time.”

She knows this, she does but she cannot help but to be pleased that Mehmed has included Deria as his and hers and not just Elia’s alone. She pulls him forward, more than ever to be a little wanton in her ways as they are past the point of those soft kisses they share when they go for strolls.

These kisses are languid, sensual, tongue to tongue as they drink one another in. Mint and the taste of sweet wine are exchanged, and Elia allows her hand to rub all over his body. She knows that they have all night, but it feels as though she is overloaded with so many emotions. She is most happy in this moment; her body is thrumming at the attention of quick and deft fingers as they explore her body that has not been explored by a man in some time. The way her chest heaves whenever she comes up for air from their tongues being tied, is drowning.

All at once she can feel herself being pulled in so many directions, but she is like a child with a table filled with sweets, not knowing which to have first. She wants it all, she remembers her septa teaching her to not be gluttonous but what does a septa know of the pleasure of the flesh? Elia shall be bold and take it with much merriment.

_There is so much of him._

His hulking figure hovers over her as his hands slip away from her slit, leaving a trail of wetness as he traces her lips and she is not shy enough to pull away. Instead she licks her lips and watches as he licks his own fingers, Elia has known that they were compatible but this, this is just further proof that mayhaps the gods are giving her a small break. That they have seen her atonement for whatever sins she must have committed in her past life and are rewarding her justly now.

She can feel Mehmed move to align himself with her opening and her hands settles on his forearm, enjoying the ripple of muscles that move in tandem when he eases his way inside her.

_Oh._

It is such a filling sensation, to be so warm and cradled in this embrace, to have her lips smothered by another’s. To feel her hips, move in tandem with her husband as they compete toward completion. It is not the awkwardness of a lady’s first time, but it is like a reintroduction into the basics. She finds a rhythm that should be dangerous to have in a bed, especially with a partner such as Mehmed whose body is toned and defined from battle and war.

The sweat that begins to cling to their bodies makes it all the better in her opinion when he flips them so that Elia is atop like she rides her Moraqi steed, Altan.

There are no words exchanged, but grunts, moans and ragged breaths. It does not take long for the tightening that had settled in her chest earlier in the day to be moved down into her sex. Her first peak in some two years, she chases it desperately and when Mehmed brings up his left leg and thrusts upward, Elia’s mouth opens then closes just as her eyes do.

She wavers atop him, like a wounded man who is about to topple over his horse. She can feel the burst of wetness between her thighs and the warmth of his seed spurting within her.

Euphoria. Bliss. Every name and synonym that describes the way she is feeling now runs through her mind as quick as lightening.

It is pure euphoria as she collapses next to him, moaning softly when she feels a gush of warmth leave her body, as his seed drabbles onto their duvet.

Posted: 04/16/2020

Edited: 04/16/2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay safe during quarantine and wash those hands!


	12. The Illusion Has Been Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war has ended, some are happy while others still mourn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot remember who asked me about making a Jade & Oberyn interlude and I'll let you know that there will be one and most likely just one, it won't be any time soon. At least until Elia and Co leave Westeros all together. We have Elia, Mehmed, Jaime and next chapter, Arthur all POV in Westeros. I would rather wait until Elia and Mehmed have left before adding in another Westeros POV because it'll be redundant and by then time has passed. 
> 
> This leads into Arthur POV, because I was talking to Witlessmaester the other day, and I imagine that House Dayne is not doing so well politically, atleast to those outside of House Martell. Ashara is Elia's bestfriend and I think with everything that happened. A Dayne, betraying not just their overlord and princess but Dorne in its entirety, well House Dayne is scrambling to fix Arthur's fuck up. So we get to see the fallout of his decision and Ashara expressing herself. 
> 
> I told Witless I would have LOVED to see what happened if the Targs won in canon, cause baaaaaaby...the DRAMA. Ugh, Robert Rebellion canon divergence will always be my favorite tag, because the exploration of this will always intrigue me.
> 
> Happy reading folks!

The weeks following her wedding had been a smooth transition and she was thankful for it. Dorne’s Westerosi guests had already left after a few days of her wedding. Her cousin Stannis and his fingerless knight, Ser Davos Seaworth were polite company, though she would not miss the new Lady of Storm’s End.

Ser Jaime left soon after, for he had his own wedding and tourney to plan for, not to mention with Connington acting like a kicked dog, he would have to return to King’s Landing and explain how and why, Connington is the way he is now. They had spent time together, especially Deria who had been so happy to see Ser Jaime again.

Although Elia could tell that just like her, Jaime did not care nor like King’s Landing – his pettiness said otherwise. The opportunity to throw in Jaime’s first thought that Connington should not have been sent to Dorne in the first place, was too good to pass up for the Young Lion.

Jaime was loyal to her and she appreciated that, oh she was sure Rhaegar would hear all about this, even if Connington had to write a tome of everything that transpired. Especially the dragon eggs, oh yes, Elia had the suspicion that Rhaegar would try to summon them to King’s Landing, so that he could see the eggs for himself.

As if Dorne would give him anything else then a spear to the heart should they wish for war and blood. No, it is better to hand out subtle jabs, chipping away at his ego and reign one day at a time.

Her goodbye with Jaime was bittersweet, two friends reunited and just as soon separated as their lives were being pulled in separate directions. But she knew Jaime would be happy to return home, if it meant he was discarding Connington from his presence. They would see each other once more, when she went for his wedding, but she did not know when she would return to Westeros after her marriage. She would be by Mehmed’s side as he told her during their wedding before he crowned her, solidifying his rule and raising her daughter. Her time had to be focused on things that were in front of her and not miles away.

Elia has never really given it much thought what it meant to be happy, truly happy. She has been satisfied and even content, but happiness seemed like such a foreign aspect to the once princess now sultana.

She recognizes it as an odd feeling, a feeling that if one did not truly experience such a euphoria of just pleasantness, they would not know what to look for. She finds that being happy can truly be a humbling experience and at the same time, it makes her more thankful now then ever. Not just for herself but also her homeland and family.

When Elia had left her new rooms and broke her fast with her family a few days after spending her time with Mehmed, she took time to truly study their faces committing it to memory. Doran looked so peaceful like a child and he held Mellario’s hand throughout, using just one hand to feed himself. Elia herself had sat next to Mehmed as he read through his correspondence and preparations for the voyage back home and the stops they would make throughout Essos before settling back in Moraq. Her daughter had sat in her lap and Elia had fed them both, as her hair hung without any adornments or braids. She was simply happy to lean back in her chair and let Deria eat the rest of the morning meal while she studied her family.

For so long it had just been Doran, Elia and Oberyn and then Mellario and now the table has been expanded and more chairs added to accommodate their good family and new spouses. Elia did not speak much, for she just watched and that smile that had been a ghost for years through her marriage to Rhaegar and the war, had remained on her face throughout the meal.

Oberyn and Jade shared whispers amongst themselves, as Oberyn himself looked so debauched and pleased with his wife. Oberyn like Mehmed never entertained marriage because he was third in line for the throne and then fourth once Arianne was born. It gave her some relief to see her brothers so happy that when Elia retreated for her morning prayers, she stayed kneeling for four hours. Her tongue switched from Valyrian to Rhoynar back to Westerosi through those hours as she thanked all the gods of her ancestors.

The warmth that had settled in her heart had kept that lurking darkness away, while it did not creep upon her in the night any longer and she recognized that it was still there – it was more bearable then ever before. Not just the newfound warmth in her heart but also in her bed, for she no longer finds herself curling up in a ball to trap heat under the duvet. Now there is a tall and lean mass of muscle that seems to radiate heat that Elia cannot draw herself away from.

Elia finds that is easier to speak her mind after she has been thoroughly fucked by her husband, because she finds herself coming down from a high, she did not know that could be found in the marriage bed. While Rhaegar had pleasured her, he always went back to his scrolls and tomes, wishing her a good night as he studied late in the night after he spilt his seed to get her with child.

Mehmed had no wish to leave their bed after he has spilt his seed and attained his pleasure and so there are now nights where Elia leans against the headboard in their bed, and she talks about anything that Mehmed has asked of her.

Elia believes that there are multiple components of good sex at least in her fair opinion. The way she lays afterward and allows the air to cool the sweat on her skin; when her hand travels down and she touches herself and lets out a small hiss with how deliciously swollen the flesh feels from Mehmed’s pounding has become and the stickiness that coats her fingers before Mehmed brings forth a wet cloth and cleans them both. Then afterwards just basking in the ambiance that is two people who are happy with one another, two friends who are eager to speak about what they did that day and all the minute things that transpired before they found themselves in bed.

It is nice to have a friend, outside of Ashara who is still coming to terms with her own losses, of not just her paramour and child but also her brother. Dorne does not forget that the Sword of the Morning laid witness to the insult of not just Dorne herself but also their princess and their overlord. House Dayne has loss face and even while Elia has welcomed Ashara because they are friends and sisters of the heart, no amount of gauze will heal the opening wound that Ser Arthur Dayne has striked at his house and Dorne.

Elia has asked Mehmed in the night, when their limbs are tangled and hair is tousled of the men in his court, for she has promised that she would find a suitor for Ashara, someone with status to bring House Dayne back from the brink that Ser Arthur has pushed them towards. Ashara has been too much of a friend, a sister in Elia’s heart just as is Mellario and now Jade, to not honor her or the promise she gave her friend when Ashara herself was comforting her.

It is during their pillow talk, when Mehmed tells her of his pashas and generals, of his friend Pasha Zagan who is unattached and unmarried but remained in Moraq to handle Mehmed’s affairs until he returns. Elia listens as he speaks about his friend who is loyal, “utterly loyal” in Mehmed’s words because Zaganos as Mehmed calls him is a general. For when Mehmed succeeds so too does Zaganos. They are one and the same, for if Elia considers Jaime the brother of her heart, then Zaganos is Mehmed’s.

In a way, Elia can recognize Mehmed’s words about success and how if he succeeds, not only to do his friends succeed too but also his empire. Elia knows that she has succeeded, at least first with not just her marriage but also Oberyn’s. The fireworks that had been brought from Yi Ti had made quite the spectacle and noise, because Dorne had succeeded not just with new marriages and economical trade but also from the Iron Throne. Oberyn’s marriage sheets were stained with blood and Elia consummated hers with due diligence. Now Dorne does not stand alone, but with an empire and Essosi allies to back her.

When she was naught but a girl in the Water Gardens, Elia and Ashara spoke of wanting to be sisters, if Elia married Arthur and Ashara married Oberyn, then they would be sisters and never have to leave Dorne. Humans can make all the plans they want, but ultimately it is up to the gods to allow those plans to pass. Alas, Elia will not just leave Dorne and go to the capital, now she will leave Dorne and Westeros all together. Her life is not here, it lies where she shall reign with her husband.

She feels as though she has a responsibility to not just her family and country but also to her friend. For House Martell and House Dayne have always fostered a close relationship considering Princess Nymeria's second husband was a Dayne. While Elia does not doubt that House Dayne can restore their own honor, their own standing in Dorne, it is not fair that one man has tainted the rest of them. For just like when Rhaegar tainted the whole of Dorne and House Martell, Doran went to extreme measures in order to right that wrong, so Elia will follow her elder brother in this lesson of atonement.

She begins to compile a list of names with brief descriptions from not only Mehmed but also Jade and Lady Mara as to the pashas, generals and even scholars in Moraq, hoping that when they arrive in Moraq, one of them will catch Ashara’s eye and her affections.

Elia feels that in a way it is unfair for her to be most happy while her friend still mourns and she tires in the day of coming and finding a solution of not just Ashara’s happiness but also for House Dayne, regardless of her personal feelings towards Ser Arthur. If Elia can attain a Moraqi match for Ashara, it shall offer House Dayne a large dowry that even Elia herself will help towards, for she wishes to see Ashara well off.

All she wants really, is for her family to be happy and safe. To have their enemies eliminated so that her daughter does not ever feel fear again not while Elia still draws breath. She knows that she cannot always protect Deria, but she would not be a mother or at least a good mother if she did not try. Lady Mara allowed for her own daughter to be sent away in the face of danger while she helped her son eliminate their enemies, Elia must do the same, must do all she can to ensure her daughter thrives while their enemies do not.

* * *

Elia had been going through all her wedding gifts, but not before Mehmed had one of his warlocks cleanse all the gifts – Oberyn and Jade’s too. The fabrics she received had been held in a bizarre steaming device to rid of any malicious intent towards herself. Jewels and gold, she received had been cleaned with soft smelling potion that changed colors when it encountered a poison. She herself had not thought to do it, and while none of her gifts have been doused with anything that would give her harm, she was glad that her husband had taken the initiative to think of it.

“Ashara, hand me that fabric. In a few moons or so, we shall be sailing towards Casterly Rock for Jaime’s wedding and tourney. I shall have new dresses made. So, shall you.”

Elia knew she would encounter Rhaegar and his little wife, she would not err by dressing anything less then the new queen she was. It was not that she wanted to be petty, but she wanted to show not just him but everyone else, that she was doing well. That her new marriage was shaping up to be everything she had hoped her first marriage would have been.

The wedding gifts that would be given to Jaime and Denyse would be spectacular and Elia had spared no expense to ensure it so. Mehmed had finally gotten around to telling her what the snake on her crown was made of, he pulled out his sword that has always been housed in its sheath.

When Elia had first seen the sword, she was awestruck when she realized she had never seen it naked. While it always hung on Mehmed’s hip, she has never seen him grab at it nor show it off in the training yard when he sparred. He told her it was made of a rock that a Moraqi explorer had found beyond the Shadowlands. His warlocks had tired over a moon to break the rock down, and then taking it to a smith to have it forged. In Moraq, this explorer has named the rock ‘siyah’ for its blackness. For the Moraqi army, that did their battles in the evening and night, having a sword that did not reflect the sunlight nor moonlight was a boon.

The snake on her crown had been stable when she had held it by candlelight and saw that while the gold and silver gleamed and glistened, the siyah snake, however, did not.

Mehmed had looked thoroughly pleased when he explained the crown to her, as he crafted it in Elia’s image. The spears sticking out, towards her enemies in the protection of not just herself but also her daughter. Then the sun and moon converging on one another, for while the sun shines brightly, in the Moraqi belief, there is a dark side of the moon that is hidden on its other side. So much so like Elia, that she hides some of herself now – in order to protect herself. She gave Rhaegar too much of herself, she had not been selfish when she should have. It was a hard lesson to learn but she learned it well and then some. The snake ties into her time in King’s Landing, trying to make herself disappear in the Red Keep in order to keep Aerys eyes from falling upon her and Deria with his insults and cruelty.

Elia has spoken in depth plenty of her time in King’s Landing and her friendship with Jaime; also taking care to mention the friendship that her own mother had with the Lady Joanna before she had passed away. He spoke of how he would have a sword forged by the Moraqi smiths that had sailed with him for Jaime. He said it was a shame that such a knight did not have a fine sword attached to his hip. So, there were Jaime’s wedding gift, a sword, and a tapestry that Elia was taking time to help make herself. It would show the journey of a young lion cub, coming into his own prowess.

The fabric that was in her hand was Yi Ti silk, gold in color, where it seemed like most of the items that she got from Yi Ti envoys was almost always gold in some form or fashion. Not that Elia complained, she enjoyed giving orders to have dresses made, not just for herself and Deria but also for her ladies.

Elia was taking the time to study all the fabric that crosses her hands and makes note of them. Lady Mara spoke that a sultana’s fashion, sets the tone for the rest of the ladies not just in court but also in Moraq as a whole. The gowns that are made, accentuate Elia’s lithe figure, and not to be drowning with all the rest.

As Elia watched Ashara walk to grab the bolt of fabric, she herself had grabbed the parchment that was encased in her leather covering that had her initials on it, that was a gift from Jade.

“Ashara, come and look.” Elia spoke, beckoning her friend to come closer.

It was Elia’s compiled list of suitors that Ashara could meet when they arrived in Moraq. Elia wanted Ashara to get a head start on her search, in the hopes that it would help her settle in their new home easier.

“What is this Elia?” Ashara looked at the parchment, Elia meeting her gaze as she just smiled at her friend.

“It is a list of suitors. I told you I would help find you a worthy man. These are the men that make up Mehmed’s court. Jade and Lady Mara have also given some input, I think you may like Pasha Zagan. He is Mehmed’s right hand; they are close friends like you and I.”

Elia is eager to whisper in her friend’s ear about the attractive of said man, a man of war and loyalty; it will remind her of their childhood when they would gossip about the boys passing them in the pools.

“Elia, I…this is so soon,” Ashara voice trails off and Elia becomes worried.

Mayhaps she has gone about this the wrong way. Elia grabs the booklet she made and closes it, rubbing her hands across the fine leather as she tries to find words for her actions. She did not mean to startle her friend nor put her on the spot.

For the past few days and weeks, she has constantly been thinking about House Dayne. The sooner Elia can rectify this situation the easier it is to unionize Dorne. Mehmed has spoken at length with Doran, Oberyn and some of the Dornish lords about the purpose of a standing army, not just multiple houses coming together but an army for the whole of Dorne. Elia considers it good fortune that they have settled the peace with House Yronwood, but now the same must be done for House Dayne. It is not just an army but also a navy that shall be drafted and recruited for Dornish waters along with trade in Essos. Dorne needs her kingdom united, not with a house straggling off to the side.

They cannot allow for House Dayne to remain on the outskirts with other houses, and Elia hopes that Ashara understands this.

“Ashara, forgive me. But you know just as I, that now time is of the essence.”

It is cruel, she knows to put her friend over the flame and try to push this when Elia knows her friend still mourns what she has lost. But she is afraid that her friend will lose more if she waits any longer for a suitor. Her brother, Lord Gerion Dayne is already married to Lady Varianna Blackmont, while her little sister Allyria was only ten. Ashara was the only one now that could gain good prospects for her family, at this time it was direly needed.

The seat that Ashara had been seated in is quickly emptied as Elia watches her friend pace the room. It is rare for her to see her friend angry, but she does not say anything as Ashara turns her piercing amethysts orbs unto her onyx ones.

“Do you not think I know that Elia?! I – for the Seven, my brother has ruined my house. Now I feel this burden upon my shoulders that was not there just a year ago. I was in love and happy and now when I try to cup my hands, it is naught but ash slipping through.”

_Just as I once was. So, content but it was nothing but an illusion. It is painful, to know that the picture you have painted is nothing but a false imagery to your eye._

“I know Ashara, better than most, I know.” Elia states, because she does truly. But she has learned that the time has come to put away childish things and begin dealing in a new reality.

Reality is cruel and harsh, and it is better to meet it head on then allow oneself to continue to dwell in an illusion that will only cause a person more harm then good.

“He was, he is my brother but by the gods I do not understand him. Dorne fought and we lost, while he just waited out the war. I do not understand. My babe is gone, snatched from my womb before I could even hold her. It was a girl you know…”

Elia walks over to her friend, her steps gentle as if not to alarm a startled animal and she pulls her friend in close. When her son had died, she did not mourn as a mother ought to, for how could she mourn the reflection of Aerys and Rhaegar who had hurt her so? Oh, she wept for the ‘what if’, if her son had looked like Deria or even one of her brothers, but at the time Elia was too angry with Rhaegar and Aerys to spare any more tears for her dead babe. It is something she was ashamed of and she had prayed to the Mother, Mother Rhoyne and the Stranger for forgiveness. That she held the sins of the father towards her own child, it was unbefitting; but it also hardened her because she was forced to change into who she is now, in order to survive.

The world had cracked her, and she made no apologies in the manner that she put herself back together.

Ashara’s tears wet the side of her neck, but she does not release her friend, her sobs grew louder, and she just continued to hold her. Trying to give the emotional strength that Elia now had plenty of, because she had been forged in the fire, with dragons surrounding her but she was of the sun and took that fire for herself.

“He is my big brother; he is a knight, but he broke his vows. I do not understand, oh Elia I have tried to. My brother Gerion does not even want Arthur’s name spoken in Starfall. He has written a letter to King’s Landing, wanting Dawn returned.”

_I knew House Dayne had problems, but to take Dawn away from a Sword of the Morning before he has died?_

This only worries Elia more, because she does not know what to say to that. Elia knows her history well enough, knows that Lord Dayne asking for the return of Dawn is all but stripping Arthur bare and leaving him with nothing to shield himself from nature nor more gossip towards his indiscretions.

It would be the final blow to Arthur, but for House Dayne, to the lords and ladies of Dorne, to see that Lord Dayne does not approve of his brother’s actions and is attempting to rectify his brother’s folly – it may just help them.

“I miss him, terribly so.” Ashara whispers into her neck and Elia understands that too.

When she was held in the Red Keep, she kept wishing Arthur would come and save her, like a knight does for a princess in distress, he never did. It had been Ser Jaime who had become her golden knight, friend, and brother in his stead.

“You can write a letter to him,” it is the only words of comfort she has for Ashara, because she knows Lord Dayne will not allow his sister to leave for King’s Landing.

“No, not Arthur. My Brandon, my wild wolf.”

_Ah._

Elia has wrestled on how she should feel about the Starks. She knows that Brandon Stark had been wild, betrothed to Catelyn Tully who now wed the second brother, Eddard Stark. He, from what she remembers was quiet and shy, which made for something odd with how close he was to Robert Baratheon.

There is a little brother, Benjen and then there is Lyanna Stark. Often, she does not think of the Starks nor the Wolf Queen of the Six Kingdoms. Elia knows she is just a girl, but Elia also knows that girls and women are often put upon with duties that they must adhere to. The Wolf Queen skirted hers, but there is something within Elia that knows the Wolf Queen is not happy.

_She was a wild thing just like her brother Brandon. Those who are not raised for the position of such leadership fail at it. A wild wolf like her now caged by Rhaegar._

Mayhaps she would feel pity, if the girl had not worn that winter rose crown with such glee as Elia had to watch in stewed silence and shame. If her countrymen did not die in the belief it was for Elia but instead for some young chit in order to ensure not just Rhaegar’s crown but also that girl’s. That darkness that dwells in her tightens up at the thought of Dornish blood paying for something they did not get to rejoice in, but she soothes it for another time.

“Oh Ashara,” her hands pat her back, rubbing soothingly over the lavender gown that adorns Ashara’s body.

They stand together for some time, not caring that maids and servants enter the room to clean about. It is only when Lady Myria comes in, telling her that Deria wants to eat with Elia, Lady Mara and Mehmed for lunch do they separate from their embrace.

“I know my duty. I shall look over these names and dwindle them down.”

Ashara wipes her eyes and face, removing any trace of her distress and she grabs the book before Elia can say anything else about this matter.

Before her friend leaves, she calls out to her.

“It is hard, moving along from your first love. But this is not the end, so no more tears.”

Elia knows that Ashara would have had no future with Brandon Stark, for he was already betrothed to another. That illusion that Ashara painted, with Brandon, herself and their daughter has long since faded just like the blood that has faded into the soil and sands of Westeros after the war.

Posted: 04/23/2020

Edited: 04/23/2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, the other day I was looking for an Elia lives fic on ff.net and I found one and I was "cool its a Robert/Elia fic, I like the dynamic of this" and then it ended up crashing and burning. It was so disgusting, the level of Dornish festishization when the author wrote that "Elia is Dornish, she knows what she must do" and so they have Elia sleep with Robert while he waits for Lyanna and then have Elia participate in a threesome with Robert and Lyanna. I just... its called "The Stag King" and then they do the same thing with Ashara, Ned and Cat.  
> I just... *throws up*
> 
> Anyways, as always be safe folks!


	13. Interlude: Arthur I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fallen star.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy reading!  
> :)

His return to King’s Landing had not be in triumph, even if the royal forces had won the war – many things had been lost to Arthur.

Over these past moons he has come to realize that he has paid heavily, the equivalent to the iron price that the iron born love to go on about.

The first had been the loss of his country, the moment he stood guard at the Tower of Joy, he had forsaken his identity as a Dornishman. Bearing first witness to the insult of not just Dorne but also to Elia, _Elia_.

It pained him to think of her now, so he has been trying not to. Not to remember the way it felt to kiss her when they were children, of her hands in his as they told one another secrets and hopes that they had.

It was a double-edged sword that was held at his throat, when he thought of her, when he now guards the people who hurt her so, including himself.

Arthur had thought that Rhaegar had simply been infatuated when he crowned Lyanna as his Queen of Love and Beauty at Harrenhal. How could he have seen it, that that simple action would lead to all this?

He could not.

The second loss had been the friendship he shared with his fellow Dornishmen who had come with Princess Elia when she married Rhaegar. The friendships that were as easy as taking a breath, because he was childhood friends of not just the princess but also Prince Oberyn. They knew him just as he knew them, it was a friendship of love and pride for Dorne that had made it so easy.

Now, those friendships have been lost, more-so knowing good Dornishmen had died, including Prince Lewyn as he led Dornish soldiers because his niece was held hostage by the crown.

Arthur was the sole Dornishman now living in King’s Landing. He has never felt as alone as he feels now.

Because say what you will about Dorne and how the Dornish fight against one another, they were all united in the withdrawal from the capital.

Their princess was no longer here and after King Aerys and Rhaegar used not just Dornish spears but also Princess Elia and now Deria Sand as weapons against their overlord, Prince Doran – they had not been inclined to stay. The bonus that Prince Lewyn died, the beloved brother of the former Ruling Princess Loreza had struck the fatal blow of how Dornishmen now saw the capital and the new king.

While there had not been many Dornish left at court when Princess Elia sent away her retinue out of fear of what King Aerys would do, a scattered few had remained in some of the inns around the city, waiting for word from Dorne. Mayhaps they had a plan to smuggle the princess and her babe away, Arthur did not know for it had never come to pass.

Arthur did not need to be a maester to see how Dorne viewed the new king. He had gone back on his word, not just his word to Dorne but also his vows as a husband.

Arthur had tried, he did he swore, that while he was at the Tower of Joy, he tried to talk Rhaegar out of this. Tried to get him to see reason, that this would not go over well. When Rhaegar had found a septon and had used his political sway to not just annul his marriage but also get married to Lyanna, Arthur had felt faint on his feet. Then being a witness to their exchange of vows, he could not recall why he did not just cut Rhaegar down if not out of frustration then for Elia. 

He lamented the losses because it had not ended there, for now his brother has asked for the return of Dawn.

His fingers clenched around the letter, re-reading the words not just one or twice but three times, before he picked up his cup of wine, flinching at the sweet taste. Dornish goods have not been seen in the capital since word spread of Dorne leaving the King’s peace and their succession from the Iron Throne. His worries would better be soothed to a Dornish red instead of the sweetness that is Arbor Gold.

Rhaegar thought to make some concessions and overtures of good-will, but what could you say to Prince Doran to make him turn his back on not just his sister and the ill done towards her but also the whole of Dorne?

You could not.

Even Lord Tywin had told Rhaegar to leave Dorne alone, lest they stir the viper’s nest. Make no mistake, that is exactly what Dorne was.

All outsiders not welcomed by the Martells would find themselves either dead in the sands, or in the darkness of Hellholt with those mad Ullers. Harmen Uller was not a man to be trifled with, neither was his brother Ulwyck. House Martell had history and rapport with not just House Gargalen, but also Houses Uller and Dayne. Two of the latter being Prince Consorts to Princess Nymeria.

Arthur may well be Arthur Sand, because he knows that he will return Dawn no matter his own personal attachment to the sword. His brother Gerion did not hold back in his letter, stating that a Sword of the Morning, their ancestor Davos Dayne has been a husband to Nymeria Martell. How before Arthur was a knight of the realm, he was a sworn knight in service to House Dayne, thus sworn to their overlord, Prince Doran Martell.

Arthur had broken his vows as a knight to his own house and the Martells. Gerion reprimanded him in simple words, but Arthur felt as though his brother wielded Dawn himself, as the words cut through him as steel to a piece of silk.

Each word was damning, though Arthur did not need his brother to point out his flaws and short comings – he already knew and recognized them.

The Kingsguard’s barracks were quite empty, as Rhaegar had begun a search of trying to find men of prestige to fill in the ranks that Prince Lewyn had made with his death and the absence of Ser Jaime Lannister.

A frown crossed his face as he thought about Ser Jaime, for he did not speak much to anyone as far as Arthur could see, outside of his lord father, Tywin Lannister. As soon as Tywin had been able, he had gotten his son released from the duty of the white cloak. It was no secret that King Aerys had been using Lord Tywin’s son as a hostage, to ensure that Tywin did his bidding.

Before the young knight had looked at him with adoration, now he hardly made any contact to his former sworn brothers. When he did speak, it was just as curtly as Lord Tywin. The small council had been in some heated debates, as everyone waited for Ser Jaime and Lord Connington to return with news from Dorne.

Arthur rubbed a hand over his weary face, as he rose from his seat and threw the letter into the open fire.

He watched as it burned in the middle before disintegrating into grey ashes. Looking away from the fire, he eyed Dawn which he had placed before his cup of wine. Arthur felt as though the sword was calling to him, so he walked over, his tunic feeling heavier against his chest. He removed Dawn from its scabbard, peering at it in silence and in a desperate attempt at comfort.

The milkglass sword stared at him, he felt, and he had no choice but to pick it up. It felt like a battle of wills, the pale sword reflecting Arthur’s purplish near blue gaze.

‘ _Are you still worthy?’_

It was the first question that flew across his mind like the star on his house’s standard.

_‘Am I still worthy?’_

The only noise in the room was the hearth’s fire crackling silently, as his sworn brothers were on duty. His breathing was soft, and he gripped the pommel of the sword harder, trying to feel what he normally felt.

It was gone.

The safety and security that Arthur felt whenever he touched Dawn, the way it hung at his hips as it was always meant to be there…lately the feeling has been less and less.

_‘Have you rejected me?’_

Mayhaps some of King Aerys’ madness has rubbed on him, for speaking to his sword, trying to obtain an answer as to why his grip no longer felt secure on the sword that has been his since the moment his brother Gerion told him he was worthy of wielding it.

_‘Are you still worthy?’_

That question kept calling out to him, harsher this time – demanding an answer that he was half afraid to give.

He twisted the sword around, slashing it as he struck an enemy not seen to the eye. His mouth dipped downwards as he let out a ragged breath.

“No,” was all he said before he picked up the scabbard and placed Dawn back into its sheath.

His sadden gaze turned towards the fire, staring at the ashes that had been collected under the logs. Arthur knew the men his brother had sent would be staying at one of the inns formerly frequented by Prince Lewyn when he went to see his paramour.

For the last time in his life, Arthur rubbed Dawn, as though he was mourning the loss of a lover. The way he mourned for his ties to Dorne and most of all for Elia. They were never fated for each other, she a princess and him a knight but when he attained the title Sword of the Morning, he thought he would be her protector. That he was bound to her out of the love her bore her, but he was found lacking in her most dire hour of need.

He had failed on that account, not shielding her from King Aerys nor her husband as he cared more for his prophecies then his wife and child.

He adjusted his tunic, which had the falling star of Starfall on it, Arthur would always remain a Dayne even if he has disgraced his family with his actions.

His next course of action would be the first step in his atonement, as he thought of not just his brother but also Ashara and Allyria. His baby sister was so young, and he doubt she would even remember him, for Arthur did not know when he would see his kin again.

Arthur knows that Gerion will have Dawn hung in the great hall of Starfall, waiting for another Dayne to arise and show prowess not just as a skilled fighter but a knight who shall keep to his vows. He knows that his cousin Lord Damon Dayne of High Hermitage has a son, Gerold with his wife Lily. Arthur only hopes that another Sword of the Morning shall arise within his lifetime, so that his own stain of dishonor can be overshadowed by someone else’s high honor.

He fixed his belt and slid Dawn onto his hip, trying to savor it one last time, as he made his way out of the barracks towards the inn that held the only other Dornishmen in the city.

* * *

**King’s Landing, 284 AC, 3 moons after the return of King Rhaegar I**

Even now there were rumors about the new king and queen and their son, some who called the new Aegon a bastard, because his marriage was annulled without King Aerys nor Queen Rhaella being made aware of it.

While King Aerys had no love for Princess Elia, she still had the dragon’s blood in her. Had Aerys been made aware, Arthur had no doubt that Lyanna would not be spared his wrath, for she did not have the lineage of having a Targaryen ancestor.

No, King Aerys would have killed her and laughed at it in the hope that it would get his son to see reason.

When Arthur returned to the city with his new king and queen, he could not meet the gaze of Elia nor Ser Jaime. He knows that Rhaegar had collected Elia and took her to the King’s solar and had words with her, but he did not even have the time to see her or explain his actions because he had to help settle Lyanna and her son.

Those first few days had passed quickly but slowly as well, the Lannister Fleet had lifted the siege that the remaining rebel forces had against Dragonstone. Ser Kevan Lannister had led the fleet for his brother, Lord Tywin when he had joined the royal forces at the Trident, giving Rhaegar the men he needed to finish off the rebels.

It had taken three moons before the Queen Dowager had arrived in King’s Landing, with the Prince Viserys and her new daughter, the Princess Daenerys.

At first, what had been the thought of a celebration for the royal forces and the birth of another Targaryen, was soon proven wrong the moment Queen Dowager Rhaella entered the King’s solar, her eyes blazing.

“Mother,” Rhaegar had greeted his mother gently, as Queen Lyanna stood at his side with a timid smile on her face in the hopes of appeasing her new good mother. Arthur had watched from his position at the door.

“Your Grace.”

Mayhaps that had been the first sign that something was wrong, as Arthur viewed the fallout of the Targaryen family right before his eyes.

“Do you care to explain to me, why I was not told of your plans to discard Princess Elia nor my granddaughter? Of how you secured the annulment of your marriage without leave from not just your father but also from me? Do you care to explain the reasons as to why this realm bled for a year while you hid away – in Dorne may I add? Have you no shame, either of you?”

Arthur was silent as ever, but he could not help but watch as the former meek sister-wife of Aerys rear her head like a dragon that had been slumbering for some time.

“Mother, please let me explain.” Rhaegar had coughed into his hand, and Arthur met his king’s eyes, conveying what he could not speak.

So, Queen Rhaella sat down, her arms spread wide as she offered Rhaegar his chance to explain his actions. Explaining that while he was fond of Elia, he did not love her; as Lyanna had been what he has been searching for, that together they would rule wisely and justly and that their children shall be like the original three heads of the dragon.

His gaze jumped back and forth between the mother and son, as he saw the gaze Queen Rhaella leveled at her son, now king.

“When I was told of my pending marriage to your father, I begged and pleaded with my own mother and father to choose different. For I had been in love with a knight who was good and true. Aerys had been a luke-warm brother at best, but as a husband and king? I tried to tell my father, King Jaehaerys that Aerys and myself were not well suited, but he did not heed my words. My grandfather's sons, married for love while I was married as it was my duty.”

Rhaegar and Lyanna had taken their seats as they gave their explanations but Queen Rhaella walked around the room after getting up from her seat, she seemed like a dragon that was eager for its first flight.

“At three and ten, I had known what my duty was. Now you sit here and tell me that you have discarded your duty, for love. What use is love when this realm bleeds? That women now whore themselves because their brothers, fathers and sons have gone to war and have not returned. What use to it, is that our house has barely managed if not for the grace of Lord Tywin Lannister? Make no mistake, he could have easily sided with Rhaelle’s grandson, but I know Tywin enough to know he would not risk his heir nor an unknown factor such as the temperament that was Robert, our cousin.”

It was damning, the subtle reminder that Rhaegar had killed his own cousin, that the royal forces had been lucky indeed that Lord Tywin sided with them. Lord Tywin was a man who analyzed the risks and Robert Baratheon was an unknown while Rhaegar was not.

“The reason you sit on that throne is because your goals matched that of Tywin’s, do not mistake that nor should you be as foolish as your father to push him away. Lord Tywin ruled this kingdom shy twenty years while your father whored with his mistresses before turning his sights to me. Raping his children into me and then making me miscarry them with his ill-treatment.”

Arthur saw Lyanna flinch at this, which caught Queen Rhaella’s eyes, as she looked at the new young queen with nothing short of disdain.

“You, I do not understand. Lord Rickard played a dangerous game, having ties to Jon and Hoster, securing betrothals and for what reason I do not know. A Notheron lord trying to play his hand at Southeron ambitions, when you have men like Lord Lucerys and Lord Tywin who have been around long enough to spot such a scheme. Now look at where his scheming has left him. Dead with his heir joining him in your crypts.” 

These words were blunt and cruel and while he understands Queen Rhaella’s frustration, he wished she would not be so harsh with the young girl.

_But Queen Rhaella was three and ten when she did her duty, what excuse does Lyanna have who is six and ten?_

“I know mother, which is why I need to make amends. I had hopes that with Viserys-”

His words were cut off, as Arthur was startled at the way Rhaella had slammed her hands down onto the table, across from where Rhaegar and Lyanna sat. Lyanna flinched away, surprise crossing her face as she stared down a dragon.

“You dare to presume to use my boy for your whims? You think I will allow my son and daughter to be used in the cleanup of the mess you have made with your Lady Lyanna? You have woken the dragon in me Rhaegar. Oh, I closed my eyes with Aerys because I accepted, he was a lost cause.”

Arthur stepped forward; he did not know why but he did.

“I will raise my children away from your court, for I have grown so weary of this place. I shall enjoy the peace that comes to me from Aery’s death and enjoy my daughter. I will not have you selling off my children. They will do their duty to our house, but I will see to it.”

Queen Rhaella pushed herself away from the table, as she fixes her gown, before offering one more verbal slap towards her son and his new wife.

“You have cost me a beloved good daughter and granddaughter and your father cost me a grandson. When I die, I shall have to answer to my friend, Princess Loreza why my son and brother treated her daughter and grandchild like a knife to her son’s throat. Elia is sweet, kind and good, so is that babe. You did not even let me say goodbye.”

“You speak of the original heads of the dragon, but forgetting it was Visenya who came first. That Orys Baratheon was Aegon’s right hand and staunchest ally. Now you have destroyed our long-standing relationship with House Baratheon, our cousins. You have also destroyed our relationship with House Martell, also our cousins.”

Queen Rhaella turns her gaze away from the king and queen and she looks at him, her gaze unflinching and Arthur feels as though she is staring at his soul.

“Your father placed Viserys in your seat while at a dinner with some lords just moons ago. He had all the intent to name Viserys his heir instead of you. Fortunately for you, the war you helped create has also secured your throne.”

The anguish that had been on the queen dowager face was no more, as her gaze turned to impassiveness as she left the room.

Arthur felt his heart drop all the way to the bowels of the Red Keep, at knowing that Rhaegar had come so close to being disinherited.

Arthur looked away from the door where the queen dowager had just left, as he looked at Rhaegar and Lyanna.

The room was silent, as Arthur ducked out of it not wanting to think about Queen Rhaella’s words about the good of love and duty.

_My own lady love is gone, what use did my love do for her as protection against her husband and the king?_

His thoughts were as soft as his footsteps as he posted outside the door, wanting nothing more for a brother to relieve him not just from his duty but also his conscious.

* * *

For the past few days, Arthur was trying to get used to the feeling of not having Dawn at his side. It is unnerving and he feels restless now without the sword, a piece of him now forever out of his reach to reclaim.

If his king has noticed the famed sword missing from his hip, he does not comment on it and Arthur is much thankful for that. He does not wish to speak about the returning of Dawn to Starfall, nor of the way the Dornishmen that his brother sent looked at him, as something foreign and not of their ilk before they left the inn. He understands that they had no wish to parry around in the capital, for King’s Landing shall not see the face of another Dornishman outside of Arthur for some time.

The small council has been called and they are all conveyed in their seats. Lord Monford received a letter from Lord Lucerys, stating his recovery of his health after he got injured on the seas battling with some the rebel’s fleet.

It is no secret that Lord Lucerys was loyal to Aerys but distanced himself when his madness was apparent, he also had no love for Rhaegar. Which is why his former position of master of ships went to his son instead. Lord Lucerys cares for the queen dowager and so he keeps his council to her only, instead of her son.

They wait for the arrival of Ser Jaime and Lord Connington to bring news of the happenings of Dorne, as even now the Spider cannot craft his webs into the sandy kingdom.

It surprised Arthur to see Lyanna in the room next to Rhaegar, because while their marriage was declared valid by the High Septon, she has not taken to her queenly duties as easily as he knows the queen dowager did and even Princess Elia did when her and Rhaegar had moved to Dragonstone.

_Heavy is the head that wears the crown._

He knows this to be true, given the tired look Rhaegar has most mornings, as he struggles to thrive under his new role as king. Arthur thinks it would have been easier had Elia been here, for she was always the political astute one. Lyanna is a wild thing, now trapped in different cages, first the Red Keep, then as queen and now as a young mother.

Arthur can hear footsteps just outside the door, as he stands near it his view being the whole council room as Ser Barristan opens the door, with first Ser Jaime entering and then Lord Connington following behind.

Arthur notes that Ser Jaime immediately goes over to his father, but he feels as though Lord Tywin is not going to be surprised by the news that they bring for his face is as blank as ever.

_Does that man ever smile?_

For he has not seen that Old Lion’s face lift in merry at all for as long as he has been in King’s Landing.

His eyes land on Jon, who is walking stiffly, with a scowl written across his face.

“As you know, before we left, both Lord Mace and my father, Lord Tywin spoke of their doubts of sending Jon to Dorne with me. His _comments_ about Princess Elia are not some treasured secret. It appears as though it is the belief that there are times when a person should be seen and not heard.”

Ser Jaime is dressed in his house colors, his hair sits on his shoulders and Arthur knows he is the very image of a golden knight, with his golden hair and skin.

“What has happened?” Rhaegar asks, as Jon snatches a piece of parchment out of his doublet and reaches for a quill, writing so furiously everyone can hear the quill protesting in distress against the parchment.

Arthur sees that Jaime looks amused, like a cat playing with a mouse.

“His Grace, the Sultan Mehmed removed Lord Connington’s tongue. I can only assume that Her Grace has spoken at length with her husband about her time here. You know what they say about marriage, ‘my enemies are your enemies’ and things of that nature.”

Ser Jaime eyes are sparkling with mirth and Arthur wants to know why he finds this so funny.

“Jon has done nothing of such provocation to earn his tongue being removed,” the king states, looking forlorn as his friend pushes the parchment towards him.

At the king’s comment, Arthur watches as Ser Jaime hides the scowl that threatens to cross his face.

Arthur observes the way Rhaegar’s face changes, from a forlorn look into something as quick as excitement and then to anger.

“The Martells have dragon eggs?!”

The room is silent at the king’s outburst and Arthur surveys that the queen has remained silent on these matters.

 _It is for the best_. Arthur thinks, for though Lyanna may be queen now, she should have no voice in a discussion about Elia nor of Dorne.

“Yes, it was gifted to them from the Sultana of Moraq, Lady Mara the sultan’s mother. She called the Martells ‘children of the sun and dragon’, very fitting to give them dragon eggs.”

Arthur can hear the slight mocking in Ser Jaime’s voice, he takes an offence to it, but Lord Tywin brings his own gaze to meet his son’s eyes. They have a moment of silent communication before Ser Jaime begins explaining what he has learned during his time in Dorne – obviously, they had no time waiting for Jon to write away on his parchment.

When Ser Jaime mentions Sultan Mehmed decreeing that Deria Sand, now Deria Martell of House Han being made into an imperial princess of the Moraqi empire, Arthur feels himself relax somewhat.

While Arthur is loyal to Rhaegar, he is trying to find a balance between the dual personalities that seem to reside in him. The Arthur that was just a boy playing in the Water Gardens with Elia, the boy who had taken Elia’s first kiss; then the Arthur, friend to then Prince Rhaegar his closest confidant.

For a long time, it was the Arthur that was nestled at Rhaegar’s side that was dominant, but now he finds himself thinking of Elia’s Arthur more and more. He thinks it is because she is no longer here in the keep with him, that she no longer is here to poke her head into the room when Arthur and Rhaegar are speaking to check on them.

Just like a piece of him is missing without Dawn at his side, another piece of himself that belongs to Elia alone is now gone too.

Then as Arthur listens, he hears of Dorne implementing new agriculture techniques, of the YiTish and Lengii guests that shall be staying in the Martell court because of Prince Oberyn’s new wife.

All these changes happening in Dorne and Arthur is not there to see it. He knows that even King Aerys had grand plans for Dorne before he had fallen to the wayside to his madness, now it shall be the Martells themselves who shall see to the renewal of Dorne.

While Ser Jaime speaks, Arthur soaks in all this information like the sands on Dornish beaches, his body involuntary leaning forward whenever Ser Jaime speaks of Elia. He notes that Ser Jaime speaks with a fondness as he talks about Elia, she is doing well – thriving he says.

_She was always meant to be a queen._

His eyes travel to both Rhaegar and Lyanna, they both look distressed and he cannot understand why. The woman that they have hurt – that he has also hurt – is doing well, should they not wish her happiness?

Just like how Ser Jaime no longer looks at him with adoration, he does the same towards Rhaegar who Ser Jaime had possibly idolized more than him. He does not understand why Ser Jaime does not bother with the king, when before he was much eager to make friends with the Silver Prince.

His musing are interrupted when Lord Tywin speaks, “are they coming to the wedding and tourney?”

At this, Arthur watches as a smile spreads upon the Hand of the King son’s lips, his green orbs sparkling with a silent joy.

“Oh yes, even before I left, she was toiling away at trying to find a fitting wedding gift. I had gifted her with a dagger with two lion teeth entombed on its handle.”

Ser Jaime chuckles to himself at his own secret joke that he must share with Elia and Arthur finds himself getting jealous, but he does not say anything. He cannot, at least not here.

Rhaegar is demanding for more answers, about the dragon eggs and about what Ser Jaime has learned about the Sultan and his empire but at most Ser Jaime answers are vague, dancing around what Rhaegar really wants. He knows that the king will not demand more of him, not with Lord Tywin right there but it also speaks loudly, at least to Arthur that Ser Jaime is aligned to Elia.

Arthur can feel himself flush with shame and guilt, for that should have been Arthur defending Elia’s secrets, but alas it is not.

So, he bides himself with just watching the proceedings around him, the king talks about putting gold forth towards orphanages and rebuilding Fleabottom. Arthur agrees that this is a good idea silently, even though King Aerys had been mad, he been a shrewd man about his gold and the treasury was full. Doing something for the orphans of the war would be a good thing, allowing for those to accept their new king even after his inactivity in the beginning of the war and only returning when his father had demanded his return.

The common folk may have small minds, but they did not forget, not with young men returning home with wounds that shall forever remain on their body and person. Not when boys barely older than ten had to step up and become men to help provide for their families.

The hours waned on until the king dismissed his council, as Rhaegar had ordered his Spider to get his birds report news back on the Sultan Mehmed and how his mother had obtained dragon eggs. King Aerys had been obsessed but even he did not get his long nails upon some dragon eggs – the Seven bless them that he had not.

“Ser Arthur,” his king calls him forward and Arthur steps forward as his gaze meets Rhaegar. Lyanna is still in the room, she has not said anything and Arthur wonders why she even came to the meeting.

“I want you to speak to Ser Jaime. He admires you; I want to know more about his time in Dorne.”

No more is said as both the king and queen leave the room and Arthur ponders how the king cannot see what is in front of him, Ser Jaime barely spares anyone within the Red Keep a glance, his gaze always disinterested.

Ser Barristan has followed the king and queen along with Ser Gerold, leaving Arthur alone with his own thoughts.

* * *

After sending a page to deliver a note to Ser Jaime, it was only hours later when Ser Jaime invites him to the Tower of the Hand to have a drink with him.

He found it odd that the young knight would not want to visit an inn for a drink or even dine in the barracks like they both used too, but he shrugs his shoulders at the thought and made his way to the tower.

It is a long trek, passing servants and attendants alike as the women flush at his appearance but he pays them no mind. He has not laid with a woman since he had been sworn into service and after all the vows he has broken, it only furthers cements into his mind to keep at least this vow to remain chaste. For it is not some random woman he wishes to lie beside but of a princess far out of his reach.

“Ser Arthur, Lord Jaime shall see you,” a maid states as she opens a door for him, bowing to Ser Jaime before leaving and closing the door after her.

“Why has the king sent you here?” Jaime asks him bluntly, not bothering to hide his disdain at the word ‘king’.

“How do you know that is was the king that sent me here?” Arthur refutes back, already becoming irritated with the young boy.

“I was subtle, but it is clear enough that I would not disclose everything I learned in Dorne. Does he expect that you shall get it out of me?”

Arthur watches as Ser Jaime pours himself a cup of water, before sitting down at his desk in his own solar not too far from the Hand of the King’s solar.

“He just wants to know what you would not say in public,” Arthur states cautiously.

Ser Jaime looks at him before he scoffs, taking a sip of his water and he leans back in his chair at ease.

“There are many things that should not be said in public or not at all. That is the real lesson behind Jon having his tongue removed.”

Arthur is not foolish to forget the disdain and even hatred that Jon Connington has felt for not just Elia but the Dornish in general. Jon barely tolerated Arthur but he was Rhaegar’s closest friend, so to Jon he was alright – even with his Dornish background.

“I had my own doubts about Jon coming to Dorne, at worst I thought he would be killed by Prince Oberyn.” Ser Jaime hums after he speaks, as if Lord Connington not dying is a true loss.

Yes, when Ser Jaime had first told them that Jon had his tongue removed, he thought it was Prince Oberyn who had done it. The Red Viper of Dorne was quick with his anger but steeled in his wrath, Prince Oberyn never cared for Rhaegar nor for any of the suitors of Elia’s hand that Arthur could recall.

Now that he thinks upon the three Martell siblings, he thinks that Prince Oberyn is not the only one who should be feared. He imagines that if a man were to sit down with the three of them, his eyes would always flash to Prince Oberyn, for his anger is quick to see. Yet it is all three of them that work together, Elia is the beauty that draws you away from your sense of danger and Doran is the breeze in the wind. You can sit with the three of them, watch Elia as she pour you a cup of wine, but you do not notice the knife that is held to your throat by Doran because he is so silent, as you were too caught up with watching Elia and being wary of Oberyn.

That is the way the Martells have always worked, Elia acting as the bond that held their family together because she was the bridge for Doran and Oberyn.

Oberyn had once said that if there was anything him and Doran could agree on, it was that loving Elia was easy.

_Does he approve of her new husband?_

“What can you tell me of the sultan?” He asks not so much for Rhaegar but also himself, wants to know who this new man is that has taken Elia’s own daughter as his. That has crowned Elia then and there at their wedding and not wasting time with frivolities.

He must know.

“Sultan Mehmed is a man of his word and a man with his own sense of honor. That is all I will say.”

They both stare at one another, unflinching and Arthur is tempted to press on, to try to gauge the man sitting in front of him and pry more answers out of him.

“Is she happy?” it comes out as a whisper, because Arthur needs to know that all the pain Elia went through, the pain he has had a hand in that she has somehow attained a little piece of happiness.

He fears the answer, half of him hopes that no she is not because he loves her, still loves her no matter what his actions have done to her.

It is selfish of him; he knows but he cannot stop himself. A part of him wants her and he wonders had he left the Tower of Joy, had he found a horse and made his way to Starfall to tell of what was happening, to tell the Martells of the betrayal to Dorne – would he have had a chance with her then.

Had his sense returned to him then he is sure he could have taken a few men, snuck into the city and taken Elia and Deria away. Let Rhaegar have his annulment because then he could have married Elia, been her true knight that had scaled a tower and rescued his fair lady from her distress.

Such dreams of a boy in love with someone he can never hope to attain anymore.

Even as he guards his king and then prince he always had thoughts of him and Elia, their love had been one borne in summer, sweet and gentle as they shared kisses in the Water Gardens, and just like Lyanna and the Stark’s words, winter had came and their love had frozen over the moment Aerys wanted her as a bride for his son.

It was hard, he cursed that he was a second son for had he not been, he would have asked for her hand the moment he had fallen in love with her. Yet his status was not enough, and he will always feel cheated about it, but he knows Princess Loreza only wanted the best for her daughter.

So, he wants to know if she is happy now, even without him or if she even thinks about him anymore.

Arthur wonders if it is the desperate look in his eyes that makes Ser Jaime put down his cup, that will allow him to have mercy on him and tell him news, but his gaze is cold.

It is not the piercing gaze of Lord Tywin where his gold flecks can be seen in his emerald eyes, Ser Jaime is steel cut emeralds, not giving anything away.

“You dare ask if she is happy after the way you have treated her? I **_know_** Ser Arthur.”

Arthur can feel his heart skip a beat twice as he stills himself, _what?!_

_No, impossible. She would not share our secrets with anyone, not to this boy._

“No,” is all Arthur states in denial at what is transpiring between them.

“When you are the sole watcher of a mad man, you seek company of someone of sound mind. Elia and I had each other to wade through these murky waters with. Yes, I **_know_**.”

His chest tightens and he begins to grow faint at Ser Jaime’s obvious mocking of him. Now more than ever he wishes he has Dawn with him, desperate for the comfort of his sword.

But it is no longer with him, just like Elia.

“Now that I think upon it, it is easy to see. The way you looked at her, always wanted to do her a favor. Tell me does the king know?”

Arthur wished he did not rise to the bait, but he did.

“Shut up! You know nothing.”

“But I do. I know Elia’s secrets just as she knows mine.” A look crosses Ser Jaime face but it is gone just as quickly as it appears.

“Quiet yourself, you fool!” Arthur worries that one of Lord Varys birds will tell, because he fears of leaving his king’s side. He cannot return to Dorne, the only place he has is with his white cloak and him guarding the king.

“Do you really think Lord Varys birds shall reach the Tower of the Hand? That my father and I have ensured that the words spoken in this tower, remain to those loyal to House Lannister?”

Ser Jaime seems offended that Arthur has doubted the efficiency in which House Lannister has secured their privacy in a city that has no secrets.

Arthur should be the one to speak, considering his secret has been laid bare by the man across from him.

“Do you love her?” Arthur demands to know, because while he knew that Elia had loved Rhaegar he took comfort that Rhaegar did not love her, in a twisted way he did not think Rhaegar was worthy of the love Elia gave to him.

“As a sister. Which is why I am telling you to stop asking about her. She is alright, you need not worry nor barge your way back into her life. Not after making such a mess when you left it.”

This angers him, he grabs ahold of Ser Jaime’s tunic, his cup of water spilling over onto the desk.

Ser Jaime pushes him away with a hard shove.

“I am not the green boy who you all left in the care of a Mad King. You will find that my days of delusion of knights, princes and kings are far over. I have seen all I need to see and believe me, I have been left wanting.”

Ser Jaime fixes his tunic, before running a hand through his hair as he stares down Arthur in defiance.

“What happened the day King Aerys died?”

Because all that they knew is that Elia and even Deria had been called before the king, when he cut himself on the throne.

The anger that flashed in Ser Jaime’s eyes was not mistakable as he took a step forward, even unarmed, Arthur felt like he had been thrown into a ring with a lion as Ser Jaime stalked toward him.

“You do not get to ask me that, none of you do. Aerys called upon Princess Elia to answer for Rhaegar’s disobedience. Aerys deigned to judge Her Grace but the Seven saw fit to judge him just as they judged Maegor the Cruel.”

That was all Ser Jaime said before he opened the door to his solar, not letting anymore words slip pass his lips which was in a sneer as Arthur made his way out of the door.

Lord Varys did not say what had transpired on the King Aerys’ final day, but if Arthur had to guess, he had been too busy trying to get word about the battle at the Trident.

His feet felt as though they were weighed down by an anchor that was attached to his ankles, as he walked the down the halls of the Tower of the Hand. His white cloak rubbing softly against his armor.

There were many pieces lost of Ser Arthur Dayne.

The dragons, lions and even the vipers have taken pieces of himself, leaving a fallen star in the wayside.

Posted: 04/30/2020

Edited: 04/30/2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to say thank you to everyone for the last chapter. Like 100+ comments on chapter 12! The dragging that some of y’all have had me cackling like a hyena lmao swear. I can honestly say I have the best readers ever, so thanks so much for leaving your comments and reviews. They really do brighten my day and make me laugh. 💕💋
> 
> I'm cramping like hell and I just made some double fudge brownies with walnuts. Oh yeah.
> 
> Side Note: I'm reading this Peaky Blinders fic, and got damn, every time I read a chapter this bitch is getting kidnapped. Like SIS, what part of Tommy is dangerous and dealing with some hood shit don't you get. But nooo...this dummy wants to run off and not say anything then she looks surprised when somebody whack her upside the head and kidnaps her. Please authors stop this, LMAO I'm 30 chapters in and like every three chapters this hoe getting kidnapped. ugh.


	14. The Unfairness of It All - As Told By Elia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Putting a name to a shadowy figure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk if anyone else has been dealing with so much shit and then you forget one major thing, but don't realize that it is major until it is the only thing left and you're like 'oh yeah...forgot about that...heh...yikes!' well that's Elia and also me. 
> 
> I had a second part of this chapter, but I think it'll do good as a standalone chapter and next chapter we find out what happened on the Mad King's last day and why she who last laughs, who laughed last gets the last laugh. Very excited about that chapter and the feels its gonna have.  
> This is more or less a gateway to that chapter.

Her index finger traces the face of the babe in her arms, she relishes in the warmth she can feel under her gentle touch. Onyx eyes peer up into her own, and the small coo that comes out of her mouth cannot be stifled as a small smile tugs at the corner of her lips.

Without thinking she brushes her lips across the babe’s forehead, inhaling the sweet scent that comes with all babes.

_Lewyn Sand._

There is a desperate pang of sadness that has nestled within her when her eyes gloss over the babe once more. The black Rhoynish curls that seem nothing more than like a black mass on top of his head, so plentiful just like her own. His skin is a flushed brown, so warm in her arms as she watches his eyes flutter open and close, deciding that the noise around him is not too loud to get a nap in.

Above all else, it is his eyes, the eyes that tells her and her brothers all they need to know.

_Martell eyes, onyx in color that seem pitless when angered._

_Uncle Lewyn’s son._

They had been gathered in Doran’s solar when a page brought a message from their uncle Eric Gargalen, who had come to visit without notice, with a woman trailing behind him and a babe in her arms.

It was the explanation of how uncle Lewyn’s paramour ended up at Salt Shore and why it had taken her shy a year to come forward to the Martells with her babe, the son of their beloved uncle.

Hearing the tale, had been hard for Elia who had taken the babe in her arms to rest the qualms of her heart. To know that her uncle had spent one last night with his paramour before sending her on a ship to Salt Shore when he left King’s Landing to lead Dornish troops for the crown. It was sad, a story so much like her own when Rhaegar had come back to the capital and left her with a hug and kiss telling her all would be right when he returned.

Had been cruel to give her that sense of hope in the middle of the madness he had a hand in.

Elia had wanted to know what her uncle had been thinking, why he would send Lady Sylvia to Salt Shore and not send her home back to Spottswood where her brother Symon ruled.

Prince Lewyn Martell was a man who did not say much, preferring to joke and laugh but Elia knows that he must have had some feeling about his eminent death, thus he thought that it would be better to send her to his good-brother than back home to her own brother and lord.

While the Martells knew their uncle had a paramour, it is the first time they have seen her. Their uncle kept her away, for whatever his own reasons but Elia likes to believe because he was sworn into the Kingsguard. If Aerys had found out, he would have killed Lady Sylvia or even forced her into his bed.

Staring down at the babe, Elia watches as his plump lips smack together, with her finger now curling his black curls and she cannot help but feel that familiar darkness creeping up against her spine. It whispers dangerously in her ear as she stares at her baby cousin, no matter that she tries to quiet it. 

She has long since grown accustomed to sorrow and guilt, now lately she has experienced true happiness but what blooms in her heart now is pure hatred.

Hatred for Aerys from the fear she usually felt about him for so long, hatred for Rhaegar for not being where he should have been, leaving her and Deria alone with his father.

The solar was filled with conversation between her brothers and their uncle, with Lady Sylvia only speaking every now and then, but Elia’s attention remained on her cousin.

His eyes had finally closed, as he had settled in Elia’s arms just like Deria did when she was young like this too.

“Prince Lewyn Martell, the second.” The words are out of her mouth before she can hold them back, but when she looks down at her cousin, she sees so much of her uncle in him it would make her weep if she had any more tears left to cry for the dead and gone.

She knows she is being greedy, that Lady Sylvia may not want her son recognized because then everyone else will know that she was the paramour of Lewyn, that should she want a marriage it may be a bit more difficult.

Yet, Elia feels as though she has some atonement to commit, because her uncle is dead and all she has left are memories of him and now the babe in her arms.

She is being selfish, but she loved her uncle and to her he was the finest knight she could have asked for growing up. The babe does not jostle when she stands up and walks over to his mother, she smiles softly at Lady Sylvia hoping that while Elia herself wants legitimization for her cousin, Lady Sylvia will agree for them to give her son the Martell name.

Elia smooths her skirts and stares at Doran, knowing that this decision is his alone no matter the council she gives him; however, by the passive expression on his face she can guess which way he shall lean.

They were all fond of Lewyn, Elia knows that even her niece Arianne had taken the news of her great-uncle dying with tears, just as Elia had done when word reached the capital of the losses of Dornish lives. In that moment she had been relieved, because while her uncle had died, Rhaegar had won on the Trident and she was sure everything else would fall back into place.

So naïve then.

“I am of the same mind sister. To have another Lewyn in our midst is a most welcome sight indeed.”

All their onyx eyes landed on their new baby cousin, who was sleeping peacefully in his mother’s arms and Elia once more felt that whisper in her ear, of that darkness slithering up her spine and rearing its head.

Elia dismisses herself, feigning a headache and she catches Oberyn’s questioning gaze on her. She gives a smile but she herself knows it is a false one and if Elia knows it, then so too does her little brother.

It does not take her long to reach her chambers, the guards that Mehmed had given her are always there in her shadow, silent and deadly to all who wish her harm. Now more than ever she is thankful for their silent presence, her head feels constricted as she searches through her wardrobe.

Rather than calling her handmaidens, she undresses herself from her gown and grabs a pair of trousers and then a tunic that she hastily tucks into her trousers. Her boots are tied with shaky hands and she ties her hair back, her feet guiding her out of the room as she walks briskly towards the stables.

She does not know why she feels this urgency to fly like a bird trapped in a cage, but the emotions that she is feeling are so compounding that it is pushing her to saddle her own horse not caring for the stableman.

Elia has seen her father, uncles, brothers, and Mehmed do this enough to know how to saddle her horse all the while her hands shake.

A moment of silence in her mind makes her think she should tell her brothers or husband where she is off to, but when she turns her head, she sees her guards have also saddled a pair of horses.

_They shall keep me safe._

That is what she tells herself as she hikes herself onto Altan, getting comfortable in the saddle before she kicks her feet against his side and off they go.

Her hands grip the reigns hard not letting even a space to slither out of her grasp as she leads Altan to the familiar shores that face the sea of Dorne.

It has been awhile since she has taken a ride, considering the weddings and the new arrivals of Jade’s court. Even the Norvosi ladies have arrived, which Mellario has been keeping busy with, finally happy to see familiar faces and customs within Dorne.

The closer she gets to the sea, the harsher her hatred feels, like an inferno that wants to swallow her whole.

Elia stumbles out of her saddle and falls forward upon her knees and begins to throw up. Her olive toned fingers grip the sand in her palms as if to give her balance but they slip through her fists anyway.

When she had broke her fast in the morning, it had been a light meal and her noon meal had been but some fruits, nuts and cheese for that she is glad as her body wavers and her throat constricts again as she vomits.

There are many emotions that she is familiar with; grief, pain, anger and now happiness but this feels new altogether.

It is hatred, for she can feel the way her vision becomes blinded as she thinks about her newfound cousin. When she even thinks upon Rhaegar, not with a simple anger but something dark within her that wishes to lash out at the man and not simply curse him to the gods as she usually does.

It is an awful feeling, hating someone. It does not feel like the usual anger of when someone betrays you or even disappoints you. It is something more, something more dangerous and volatile and that scares her.

_I never hated him before._

That was true, even when she first arrived back in Dorne, she did not hate her former husband. Or maybe she did but had been too drowned by grief and remorse that her hatred had yet to emerge itself from the cover of darkness within her heart. Elia does not like those two guesses and now she thinks that being confronted by someone else, someone else so innocent like her Deria that has been affected by not just Rhaegar but Aerys has pushed her to the precipice and now she has fallen in that abyss.

She stays on her knees for a while, listening to the waves crash upon the beach and she inhales the salty air as she closes her eyes.

There is slight movement, from the sound of boots squishing the sand and when she opens her eyes and looks up, she is met with the yellowed gaze of one of her guards.

When Mehmed and Jade first arrived, Elia found their guards a mystery and at times a little frightful because she herself has never seen them talking. Even when in pairs, they move like a single entity and she wonders how that came to be – what kind of training makes them the way they are.

In her guard’s hand, is a flask of water and she takes it, murmuring out a ‘thank you’ as she takes a drink, enjoying the minty flavor that rids her mouth of the taste of bile.

When she begins to stand up, a gloved hand shoots out to steady her and she offers a wobbly smile that she does not attempt to hide as a grimace. She knows she must look a mess to them, their sultan’s wife throwing up on a beach after hastily putting herself together.

 _This will be my only moment of pity, just this once._ She swears to herself, not wanting to ever be like this in public again. 

The silence encases them, and Elia stares out towards the sea, rubbing her fingers against the flask to help occupy her mind on something else.

“If I close my eyes, I can see the days of my childhood in front of me. I was often sick but the times when I was well, I would spend the days outside enjoying the sun.”

For a moment she closes her eyes as she listens to the waves which sound like a melody to her own ears. In her mind’s eye she can see herself standing on the shoreline before she breaks out into a run because Oberyn decided to chase her with an eel. Her screams can be heard and when her uncle and Doran arrived on the beach, she stops and points at Oberyn, who is smiling as he closes in on her. Her uncle had been a knight long before she was born and Doran was back from his fostering with their other uncle, Lord Eric Gargalen of Salt Shore.

Elia had called out to her uncle while running, almost out of breath ‘you were charged to be brave. Defend me!’ as she ducked behind Doran and then she watched in eagerness as her uncle Lewyn chased Oberyn.

She remembers laughing so hard she ended up getting the hiccups, as even Doran laughed with her too. Her uncle and brother had run off and while they were far away, she noticed the eel gone from her brother’s hand before it disappeared and a scream so much like Elia’s own could be heard. She now knows that their uncle shoved the eel into Oberyn’s swimming trunks and Oberyn had screamed in a high pitch voice as he wiggled dance trying to get the eel away from his arse. 

There is a soft lingering smile on her face, and it falters when she thinks that her uncle will not be able to share such adventures with his own son. That his son will not have a father to place upon him on his shoulders, like Lewyn did for Elia and Oberyn when they were younger and what he did for Arianne too.

The mint while it had ridden her of the aftertaste of bile, does nothing for the hatred that curls onto her tongue like a viper's venom slowly ebbing out of its fang.

“My cousin will have none of that. All he shall have are memories from other people and a stone face in the crypts.”

_If only I knew._

Elia knows that even if her uncle had lived and she herself remained the Crown Princess, it would have been hard on her uncle and his son. But she believes that she herself could have easily taken the boy as a ward, to keep him in her retinue so that her uncle could always have access to him. Or even Doran could have him raised in his courts, or their uncle Eric could have taken the child to Salt Shore and fostered him there with Lady Sylvia. Mayhaps when the boy was older and knighted, she could have taken him as a sworn shield for herself or Deria.

Yes, if only she had known what would be in store for not just herself but also her house, she would have taken any betrothal that landed at her feet. Mayhaps she could have wedded Baelor and became the Lady of Oldtown, or if Arthur had not been a second son, or if Lord Tywin did not disregard her for his youngest son instead of his heir.

_I could have changed so much, if only I had known then._

Or if Oberyn had been sent away earlier, had the ports of Moraq been open and Oberyn had met the acquaintance of Mehmed then. Oh, if Oberyn had brought along Mehmed to their mother’s court, she has no doubt that Loreza Martell would have seen her married to Mehmed. For he is everything Elia could have asked for if she had known what to ask for in the first place.

The wariness she felt around him has long since vanish and she confides in him. He is attentive and good to not just herself but also Deria and that she will always be thankful for. Elia knows that love is like a flower that you have to be patient, watering it and shielding it from harsh rain and even the harsher sun so that it may sprout and bloom. Her admiration for Mehmed is slowly morphing into something else and she is quite eager to see what it becomes as she explores her marriage.

There is a small part of her that regrets that she has had to go through all of this to find someone who is worthy of her time. Someone that does not treat her like a mere accessory to adorn nor puts her in a corner while he studies his texts.

To be seen and to be heard, it is truly exhilarating and it is the greatest gift that Mehmed has given her to date.

Elia thinks that her regrets and hatred go hand in hand, because she hates that she feels this way. She hates that she even hates Rhaegar when she should feel nothing for him just the same way as he felt nothing for her all along.

It is a maddening cycle and now that she finds herself enraptured in it; she is looking for an escape.

Her guards remain silent but vigilant and she feels somewhat like a fool for displaying herself like this. Almost running away from her brother’s solar to change into trousers so that she can run down to the shore, while they do not look directly at her- which she is grateful for- she knows they are watching her just outside their peripheral.

The one near her only took a step back after offering her his flask and she stands up straighter trying to stifle her emotions, as she usually does when she thinks about everything that has transpired the moment she was called upon to marry Rhaegar.

“Do you speak, Ser?”

Elia knows she should have asked about the Shadow Guards before, but she has been so busy with packing away her things and preparing Jaime’s gift. In a way she had been trying to enjoy the peace of Sunspear before she leaves Westeros altogether. Soaking in as much as she can like the sand does towards the waves underneath her feet.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

A gasp leaves her throat because she is stunned, she has never heard a guard speak, or mayhaps they do speak but just not to her.

“Yet, you both have never spoken to me before.”

It is not an accusation but an observation.

“You have not directed any statements nor questions towards us before, Your Grace.”

Her tongue was about to offer a rebuttal but then she lets out a chuckle, nodding her head and agreeance. So much like the Kingsguard but more extreme in a way in their silence and deferment to their charges.

“Yes, that is true. I apologize. I have been out of sorts lately, now more than ever.”

Probably an understatement as winter has brought forth a steady chill to Dorne, she has been looking over her household and learning more about the court she shall be entering in Moraq. From her marriage, to mothering, to her family and now education, Elia finds herself quite busy and her decision to ride today may have been spurred on by it.

“Your Grace,” is all her guard offers her.

“What are your name Sers?” Her eyes flashed from the guard in front of her to the other one who is still standing vigilantly, eyeing their surroundings.

Both of her guards are dressed in the pitch-black armor she is slowly becoming familiar with, it seems that the only color that they have on their person are the masks that they wear. The guard in front of her wears a silver and gold mask, while the other wears a green mask that reminds her of summer grass.

“I am Daedra. He is Seraeron.”

_Such odd names._

They do not sound like anything Elia has ever heard of but at least now she knows their names and has spoken to one. Seraeron simply looks at her and states, “Your Grace” before turning back to his watch.

The hatred that she has is still in her, like a coiling snake, hissing and striking out but just like her anger and regret she has learned to soothe it. The darkness that has bloomed is slowly creeping back down her spine, back towards its little nest within her heart that is reserved for her enemies alone.

In a way she fears that this will be her new normal, these intense emotions that she struggles to control. Her grief, sadness and anger are like the sea before her eyes; before it was like a raging storm, unrelenting and harsh but now they are like calm waves – still rippling but not destructive.

Her guards do not offer her anything more, mayhaps that is for the best to not delve too deeply before she asks Mehmed, for she does not wish to offend them with her questions.

Altan releases a neigh and Elia takes that as a sign to return to the palace, if there is one thing, she shall be happy about in Moraq it is the idea of being surrounded by waves. It has always been a comforting sound and one of the few things she liked about her time on Dragonstone was the sound of the waves crashing against the fortress.

At last she returns the flask that has been given to her to Daedra, thankful for his small kindness and she cements that she should get to know her guards better. Her time in King’s Landing has taught her to be aware of who is in her shadow, something she has relaxed on while in the comfort of Dorne.

_I cannot change anything now; the past has already happened. But going forward, I can do more, do better._

Her thoughts linger on her uncle, wondering why he would send his paramour to Salt Shore instead of Sunspear. She wants to know why he decided that, did he believe he would not return to his paramour? Did he know that she was pregnant when he sent her away?

_Yes, he probably did._

Her own mother told her how supportive her brother had been during her pregnancies, especially when she lost Mors and Olyvar, her elder brothers who died in infancy.

Her uncle Lewyn probably guessed that she was and sent Lady Sylvia away, but it makes her wonder why Salt Shore and not Sunspear when it is a shorter voyage.

The ride back to the stables is long, as Elia tries to go over her thoughts and questions. Why her uncle did what he did, if he had no faith that he would return alive and thus sent his paramour and child to the safety of his good brother.

In a way it makes sense, Elia herself knows Sunspear was chaotic during the war, of her brother trying to get news about her. Doran recalling Oberyn from Essos using Mellario’s family in Norvos, as her uncle took Dornish troops to lead them in war. She herself knows the stress of pregnancy and while Sunspear had been a hotbed for activity, Salt Shore was not. Their uncle Eric had been prepared, as was all Dorne but her brother Doran did not send all his best men to battle and leave Dorne unprotected.

Lord Gerion Dayne and Lord Eric Gargalen had been held in Doran’s grasps as he contemplated the war and secured Dornish borders.

She sighs, as she gets out of her saddle. The more she thinks on her uncle’s actions the more confused she becomes because no matter what she speculates, she will never have the truth of it. Elia knows that Doran may try to get the reasons out of their uncle and Lady Sylvia, but if Lewyn told them to keep their word, they would not relent in the matter.

Nor would Doran try to take a dead’s man promise to those he beheld away from them.

Coming back to the palace has made her tired and the evening is slowly falling away, her stomach rumbling softly considering she has thrown up her morning and noon meal.

A wary hand pushes back some loose curls from her face as she walks towards her chambers, her guards ever faithful, following right behind her.

Before she walked into the palace, she straightened up her disheveled appearance, in the hope that she does not cause others to whisper about her.

Elia is not known for impulsiveness but when she had been down at the beach she wanted to scream; _I still do_ she thinks softly to herself. She just wants to scream, rage and hiss with her fangs as a viper ought to against Rhaegar and his stupidity. She wishes she could recall Aerys back from his ashes but even then, she had the last laugh against him, even though it came at a great cost.

That her uncle will never know his son and a son never know his father, it tires her. It is unfair and Elia knows this, but she has grown so tired of unfairness – just wanting a balance to it all.

From Ashara and her moodiness at looking at potential suitors, to now Mellario’s second pregnancy which she is joyful albeit although somewhat a little jealous, to now dealing with Lewyn’s son. Elia has found herself as tired as she was when she first arrived from King’s Landing.

Looking back, she realizes that while she worked through her grief and anger, her hatred had been left idle to do as it pleased. It had taken cover in her own heart and now she knows that that is what the darkness within her is.

Oh, she can be happy now when at night she lies in her husband's arms and is warm and she feels safe. When she can smile in the morning as her daughter sits on her lap and talk to Lady Mara and Jade about Moraq and learn a bit of Moraqi from them.

Her grief is silent now, but her hatred feels like a shadow that clings to her now as a second skin.

Now that she has recognized it, she recognizes the danger that it presents not just to herself but others. Elia perfectly recalls the hatred Aerys had for his own family, his sister and queen, his son and heir. Aerys own hatred towards Elia is fresh in her mind, always.

She fears the idea of becoming like that, so consumed by hatred that she begins treating her family with disdain. Once she was just a sweet girl and now, she has been so irrevocably changed, she finds it hard to deal with all the changes. It will almost be a year and yet Elia still feels like she is learning things about herself, some things welcome and others not.

Posted: 05/07/2020

Edited: 05/07/2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is safe and doing alright.
> 
> Ya'll...I've been reading Sons of Anarchy (Jax/OFC) and Peaky Blinders (Tommy/OFC) fics and when I say bitch...BITCH! I got a Peaky Blinders fic I want to do, and I'm like '"No Kel! You can't keep doing this. Put it in the drafts for later." I just get so excited when a new idea comes to me and honestly, a machine should be invented where all I have to do is internally write my story in my mind and that device translate it to my computer. I need Apple or the CIA to get on that ASAP!


	15. Elia the Defiant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violent delights have violent ends, so true is the tale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hey demons, its ya girl!"
> 
> Some light smut at the end, I tried my best lol. Gearing up for the journey to Casterly Rock where our favorite BDE Tywin lives, with his glorious sideburns and gold-flecked eyes. Also My boi Jaime, cause I love Jaime and I will never forgive D&D for taking his redemption away from him. Because at this point canon? What canon, I don't know her, ain't never heard of her nor seen her.

Most nights, her dreams are peaceful like a black veil that show nothing and allow nothing to be seen, and she welcomes it whole-heartedly. Tonight however, she was once more within a corridor that stretched as far as any horizon over the sea, as she ran down trying to get to the nursery.

Her feet were bare as they smacked against the floor and even without turning back, she could feel the piercing deep purple gaze on her figure. It was an anger filled gaze, swallowed by madness and a wildness that was harrowing and no matter how hard she tried, she could not reach the nursery door even as she heard her daughter’s cries of distress.

It was not enough, for it never was when she had this dream. Her feet could only carry her so far through the dark corridor and her lungs felt like they would burst in capacity. Her hair would swing madly, and her arms would be outstretched as if she could grasp the air in front of her. As she ran, she kept chanting ‘no’, hoping that this dream would stop and she would wake in her warm bed, knowing her daughter was safe and sound asleep.

As she ran, she could feel the graze of a warm touch upon her arm and she felt as though she was seized from the corridor, the angered purple gaze finally leaving her alone in peace.

Elia’s eyes startled awake as she looked around the room crazed and almost frantic, searching for the dagger that Jaime had gifted her at her wedding. Her heartbeat felt erratic as she felt warm hands touch her arms gently. Elia could hear a familiar voice, but her hands went through her hair, pushing it away from her damp face.

“Deria,” was the only word out of her lips as she threw the duvet off her body, her mind on a singular task as she snatched her robe off the floor, her shift be shielded from the night’s air.

Her arms were steady as she snatched open the door to her chambers and ran down the corridor and opened the door to the nursery. The sigh of relief that left her lips was not unheard as she walked carefully towards the small bed that held one of the anchors that keep Elia tied to this life.

When Lewyn the Younger had been installed in the nursery, with Lady Sylvia staying in Sunspear rather then returning to Spottswood, Elia had thought to install Deria in her own chambers but thought better of it. From the moment her daughter had been born and placed in Elia’s arm, she had nursed her at her own breast. Had shooed away the wet-nurses and cared for her daughter even when she remained in bed to recover from birth. Her daughter was so use to others in the room with her that she did not want to change it so quickly.

When they were hostage, Elia had slept in the nursery, keeping her eyes on her daughter and though she suffered from an aching back it had been worth it. Being the first and last person her daughter saw every morning and night, had been a balm to soothe the anxiety Elia had been dosed in at the time.

Her fingers trembled as she traced her daughter’s face, her touch nothing more than a whisper that spoke to soothe her erratic heart. A part of her felt like a fool for jumping out of bed so quickly, possibly startling the guards though they did not say anything at her disheveled appearance.

She was quiet in her retreat back to her own rooms, her body feeling drained after her short burst of energy. Her movement was lethargic as she entered, her gown clinging in some places where her sweat had been cooled.

The door closed behind her and she rubbed at her eyes, wiping away the remnants of sleep as she walked towards the tub that still sat before the fire. Her fingers dipped into it and while the water was tepid, she undressed anyway wanting to be rid of the sweat that clung to her body from her fitful dreams.

It had been a week since the arrival of Lewyn the Younger and Elia had been wrestling with herself, trying to temper herself but it found it difficult. It made her scared and so she spent more time working on Jaime’s gift, her hands working mindlessly as she stitched. While her hands had been occupied, it had done nothing to soothe her mind and she knows she should not be surprised that she had this dream again.

“Elia,” a voice calls out and she looks away from the fire as she stirs in the water. The bar of soap all but forgotten in her hands as she washes herself.

Chagrin makes its way up into her chest as she feels silly now, knowing that she had awoken her husband who just recently arrived in their rooms from the council that Doran has commenced.

“What time is it?” she asks as she steps out of the tub, grabbing a cotton cloth to dry off with, as she oils her body, rubbing her skin trying to calm her mind.

“Just a little past the Hour of Ghosts,” her husband states blandly, but she can hear the undertone of curiosity. Mehmed is a curious man, not just from watching him but also from what she knows from his sister and mother.

_He will want to know why I left so quickly and was so disheveled at that too._

He does not reprimand her, but he has gotten up from their bed, coming close to her as he gives her his discarded tunic he wore just after he himself had bathed and came to bed. His scent lingers in the soft material and she breathes it in, taking small comfort in it.

“What has distress you so? You leave our bed and room as if death has come for you.”

Elia watches as Mehmed adds more logs to the fire, keeping it from dying out and knowing that his wife likes to be warm while she sleeps.

Very suddenly the fatigue has set in, mayhaps all the drama within the past week has finally been laid across her back and she has found the burden heavier than she can bear.

Grabbing his hand, she pulls him back towards their bed, sighing out at the feel of their mattress against her stomach as she lays down on top of their duvet, while Mehmed leans back against their headboard.

This is an action that they are both familiar with, something they do after sex with either Elia laying on her stomach or laying across her husband as he picks her mind and she does the same towards him.

“Often times, in a moment during the darkness, I forget where I am. It is such a brief thing, but it is there all the same.”

Those first couple of weeks back from King’s Landing had been brutal to Elia, but she had kept Deria’s crib then bed in her own room, watching over her like the sun watches over fields.

Mehmed has reached and began combing his hands through her hair and she leans into his touch, the tension slowly easing from her frame.

“Your brother Oberyn tells me you have been quite tense, especially when your aunt arrived with her son.”

At this Elia’s lips quirk up, the Moraqi do not seem to find a difference in the familial statuses of paramours and actual aunts married into the family. Their odd customs are welcome, considering what Elia had read about the Han’s family history and how plenty of sultans have been born from paramours to sultans and pashas who did not wish to marry or were more interested in men and only had a child because they wanted one.

“I should have known I would not escape his watch without him telling you.”

In a way she felt like a child again, Doran telling on Elia and Oberyn to their parents when her and Oby got up to their shenanigans. Except this time it was Oberyn who had told on her, she pouted but knew her brother only did it out of worry.

“Did you not think I would not notice either? Why else have I not taken you to bed, I would rather not bed you when your focus is elsewhere beside from the task at hand.”

While that is the truth, she knows that Mehmed is jesting because he has also found himself busy; from being in the forge with smiths to being in council with Doran, Oberyn and their cousin Manfrey.

“What troubles you so?” Mehmed asks her and she lifts her head to peer into his eyes, while there is a gate over the fire the room is filled with enough light to look into his eyes and discern what is there.

Worry, anxiousness and most of all intrigue.

_I have not told my own brothers nor Ashara about this dream. Though Jaime knows I have dreams, even he does not know about this one. It is so troubling; I cannot help but want to spare others._

Her tongue darts out and licks her lips as she sits up and grabs one of the many pillows that they keep on their bed. She leans against it, as she moves forward getting closer to her husband.

_But he is a friend, someone I can share my confidence with. Ashara is still saddened and angered about the politics of her house. Doran and Oberyn are busy with their own marriages, Jaime is busy with his own life and troubles as being groomed properly to be his father’s heir. I do not have anyone else to confide into._

Elia wonders where she should start, because just explaining her dreams will not be enough and as soon as the thought comes to her, her emotions feel like they are bursting at the seams. As a ship being capped sized by water, a cup of wine filled to the brim and overflowing with blood red wine.

The early days of their brief courtship were spent trading stories, like a traveler bartering for room and board, ale, and mead. From their respective childhoods, to their parents and friends, for Mehmed his rise not just as an imperial prince but also his time under tutors for the imperial academy and his military campaigns when he was on the cusps of manhood. For Elia it had been her childhood sickness that had its good and bad days, where certain foods helped alleviate her frailness and her time in the Water Gardens just past a few dunes.

The story of her time in King’s Landing had been a broadened version, but Elia is not a fool to not think her husband has used his charisma to try to get information out of Ashara or even his new good brothers. However, Elia herself has not divested in the heavy details even to her brothers and so for the first time, someone not Jaime who had been there firsthand shall know of what transpired.

 _From the beginning,_ she thinks as she toys with the frills of the pillow, tracing the pattern of eagles.

“When Rhaegar first disappeared I had been worried, doubly so when the Aerys recalled me from Dragonstone. I had been foolish enough to think that just because I was across the water from him, that his reach was not far at hand.”

Even thinking of it now, it angers her, naively believing that she would be safe and out of Aerys’ grasps.

“So, my retinue and I began packing my belongings and I just **_knew_ **that something was amiss, the thinly worded threat in the letter sent to Dragonstone was all that I needed. I began dismissing my ladies. My husband was gone, and I was the only thing that kept Dorne from possibly joining the rebels, especially with how Rhaegar snubbed me at Harrenhal. I did not need other Dornish ladies nor men at risk for my husband’s actions.”

She notices how her voice has become monotone, as if Elia were not herself to witness this but telling it from the perspective of a spectator. Thinking of it now she realizes that was exactly what she was, a spectator to her own life that had been ruled by crazed men the moment she left Dorne. Like a doll with strings and being forced to dance and sing to a tune she did not care nor like, for men she has grown to fear and even hate.

“It was such an odd thing, to be back in the capital it felt like nothing had changed but everything had. I could feel it in the air, the taste of war even back on Dragonstone. The moment Rhaegar ran off with the Stark girl, it was as though a sword had been swung and the thin seams that held the peace together had been cut.”

The moment Rhaegar had left, everything in Elia’s life had fundamentally change even if she did not know how much it would. The following year of her life would be written in blood and ink and not by her own hand until the end.

Mehmed fingers still comb through her hair, braiding some strands and then unbraiding them but it is relaxing as she continues her tale.

“Time went on, but it was heavy in the way time is when you are almost out of it. Like a man on his deathbed and trying to make peace with all the demons that surround him before he journeys on.”

The longer Rhaegar was away, the heavier it felt for Elia, as though she was chasing something that could never be attained.

 _So fickle time is_.

“Then one day he just suddenly returned, ready to lead his father’s armies, as my uncle Lewyn was sent to lead Dorne’s. I thought myself mad with tears when he arrived in my chambers telling me everything would be alright. So foolish I was then.”

Elia offers up a smile, but it is harsh and bitter, not the usual one she gives her husband whenever he is by her side. She watched as before her husband’s face had been blank, it morphs into a face of unpleasantness.

“My mother always taught me to be cautious of men, to wear my mask and make sure it was impeccable. A woman’s courtesy is her armor and I took that to heart while in King’s Landing. Before I had always worn a mask in public, out of fear of giving the spectators more things to say about me. ‘Oh, Elia is beautiful, but she has not birthed a son’ or ‘Elia, Jewel of Dorne but Elia the Weak.’ I became even more careful when the only people within the Red Keep were just Aerys, Jaime, Deria and myself.”

When Rhaegar marched off for war, it felt like the whole of the keep held their breath deciding if they should try to plunder the keep should Rhaegar die or remain loyal for a triumphed return.

“It was dangerous to not wear my mask, even late at night I still wore it because it was protection. Protection from the shadows and Varys’ bird that were always fluttering about. Protection to my daughter that she did not think anything wrong about no longer seeing her father, grandmother, or uncle. I had to be strong, too strong mayhaps or else I would fumble and fall. If I fell, I did not want to think of what would become of my daughter.”

That had been and still is Elia’s biggest fear, that should something happen to her what would become of Deria. Who would hold her close and sing in the language of the Rhyonar to her babe that she struggled to birth? Who would hold her hand and make her flower crowns as she danced around the room and made herself laugh silly? Elia knows she has her brothers, Jade and Mellario, of Lady Mara and Mehmed but they are not Elia.

“Even during the Hour of the Wolf, I would sleep few, preferring to keep watch over Deria and there were days when Jaime himself slept in the nursery even if it was not protocol. We kept watch over one another, just a few hours of sleep here and there but it felt good knowing someone we trusted watched over the other.”

Elia and Jaime had been in their own war within the Red Keep, keeping away from spies and an enemy who slept just a corridor away from them.

Her fingers have drifted towards Mehmed’s legs that are covered by his silk trousers, but the material is smooth to the touch and she traces circles on them.

“We were hardly getting any news about the battle; it was delayed but we all waited with bated breath. Though Rhaella was no longer in the Red Keep and we had thought we would not hear anymore screams, we did. Aerys was still burning men, no matter the crime as simple as stealing bread because of hunger.”

While Rhaella’s screams no longer filled the air, it was always the screams of another, of a man or woman and at times a child or two. It had made Elia nauseous at having to watch, of being forced to lest it be her own daughter burned.

“At times I curse my good memory, because I remember Aerys’ last day as though I have lived it a thousand times; of Rossart coming to my rooms, telling me to bring Deria and I could feel the dread settle in my stomach.”

The tracing on his trousers became much harder, as she recalled that day. Her eyebrows dipping down and her face slowly morphing into a frown as her breathing began to slow as though being choked from her lungs.

“My daughter and I were brought to Aerys, as he sat on his throne. Sneering down at us as though we were nothing but filth in the streets of Fleabottom. Aerys had dismissed Rossart and I felt relief. Knowing that if Rossart was not in the room, then there would be no burnings. It had been just Aerys, Jaime, Deria and myself. I had picked Deria up and held her close, as she buried her face in my neck.”

When she had left her rooms at the time, she had made the choice to let down her hair. Elia had been defiant, slowly not caring to appease and impress Aerys after understanding he would never like her nor was he worthy of her respect anyway.

“Aerys said he began to think, of why it was taking so long to hear back from Rhaegar. Of where the rest of his Kingsguard were, who were not where they should be and defending their king. That he bid them to find Rhaegar and the Stark girl, but they had not returned and brought the girl with them.”

Her fingers had stopped tracing his legs altogether as her eyes began to get a far-off look, glazing over like lemon glaze on a cake.

“So, he began to question me, for I am Dornish and we are so sneaky, you understand?” She could not help but roll her eyes, Dorne was always the other, always looked at with suspicion when it was Rhaegar himself plotted to overthrow his father. It was the Kingsguard who had forsaken their king, while Elia had been forced and brought forward to be held accountable for all of them.

“I did not know; how could I know that Rhaegar would install that girl in my own homeland? That the Kingsguard would forsake their vows to the king and instead be loyal to Rhaegar and their new princess, while I was held hostage and Rhaegar used my country’s finest men for his and his father’s war?”

Her hatred had been slow to emerge but just telling Mehmed all this, just made that darkness creep forward again, as if it was in glee at finally be exposed and brought forward willingly.

“Aerys sat on his throne and told Jaime to bring Deria to him.”

That was a moment of true dread, of fear so unbridled that Elia had began to shake where she stood as she stared at Jaime who was matching her look of horror.

“I do not know what made me do it, the exhaustion I felt when I first returned home to Dorne, or even now this past week was nothing compared to then, but I was so tired. Just so **_tired_** , it felt as though I was drowning, and something or someone had kept my head under.”

A combination of fear, dread and wariness had made Elia defy Aerys for the first time, but she would not be the first princess or even queen to ever defy a king, for Daena the Defiant had done the same thing to Baelor the Blessed.

“I just said ‘no, you will not have my daughter’ because take what you will from me but not my little girl.”

Mayhaps if Aerys had been smarter, to not think he should threaten a woman’s only child, her salvation and anchor he would have been more careful. He should have tried to appease Elia instead of filling her with fear and caution.

“I think it startled him, to be denied and least of all denied by me. The room was quiet, Deria holding close to my neck, but I could feel her labored breath. Every breath she took only steeled my resolve as I shouted it out once more, ‘no’. I felt like a child who has just discovered the word ‘no’ even when meaning yes, just shouting it repeatedly.”

At the time, something in her had snapped, while Aerys had always been a threat, the idea that he would dare to touch her daughter then, not as a grandfather should their first grandchild but as a threat. Elia would not allow it, even if she had to bleed to see it so.

“It was Jaime, Ser Jaime who looked as tired as I, as he stepped away from the throne and walked towards us. I knew he was no threat as he placed himself before the throne and us. His hand on the hilt of his sword as he too stated ‘no’. We were just so tired; we did not have the answers that Aerys sought but he still demanded them. Angrier now that we both defied him, and that Jaime would draw his sword in defense of me instead of him.”

It was why Elia did not care that Jaime use to sleep with his sister, that he almost became a kingslayer and oath breaker, because Aerys was going to demand that Jaime do something that dishonored his vows. Dishonored his vows more than what Aerys had already demanded. That Jaime chose her, she will always remember and love him for it for he had been her champion when she had no one else.

“If Deria was an anchor then so too was Jaime, the only person I could speak too without fear of Aerys finding out. Two lonely souls waiting with bated breath for the next chime of the bell. Ser Jaime chose me when my husband had forsaken me.”

She understands Jaime’s dislike for Rhaegar because what do you say to a king, that you had to step in front of his wife and daughter and shield them from your own father, which should have been Rhaegar’s duty?

“Aerys was so mad, as angry as we had ever seen him. He rose from the throne, and I began praying to the Father. I just wanted this to stop, to let justice swing the sword and be done with it. But the gods are full of ironies, as Aerys did just that. On his descent down the throne he slipped and fell over, landing on an up righted sword that pierced his neck.”

Elia and Jaime had been in shock, his hand had moved away from the hilt of the sword and his armor clanked softly as he moved forward to check Aerys.

It had only been a moment, but she grabbed him, shaking her head. No need for someone to enter and find Jaime standing over Aerys even if to inspect him. 

Elia had called out, screaming even in faux distress and they waited until they heard footsteps just beyond the door to the throne room before she released Jaime. As people entered, Jaime had begun walking towards the corpse in perfect timing as gasps were let out.

“We had time it very well, lest suspicion fall onto Jaime or even me. I used my hair as a curtain as I hid Deria away from the impaled man. I felt delirious when Rossart and Varys entered the room.”

It had been a mess and the official story to everyone else was that Aerys had slipped on his throne and impaled his neck. Aerys was often known to never sit easy on his throne and it had been easy to tell that tale.

“When I finally arrived back in my rooms, I wanted to laugh but then I thought of how Aerys’ death could change this all. Ser Jaime had been stuck to my side, and we spoke in whispers, I knew his father wanted his heir back and I needed something to bargain for Lord Tywin to join Rhaegar’s forces and help him win. I was going to have Rhaegar release Jaime from his vows and then give my daughter to his first-born grandson.”

Elia had been so desperate then, so ashamed now at the thought that she was ready to sell off her daughter, but she was willing to do so if it meant that Lord Tywin would come and help them.

“I was willing to pay the iron price, so heavy in its bounty in the assurance that Lord Tywin would not just receive his heir back but also a princess as a good-daughter. I had crafted a letter, using Lady Joanna as an influence knowing that she and my mother wanted Jaime and I to marry but instead of us, it would be our own children to do so. Turns out I did not need to.”

Only a few days later did word reach of Rhaegar winning at the Trident.

Elia rubbed her eyes, trying to wipe away the glaze look that has since retreated but she can feel that shadowy figure on her spine once more.

“I have a dream, where I am running down a corridor to Deria’s nursery, but I can never reach it. Even when I am breathing hard and running barefoot, the corridor stretches on as far as my eyes can see.”

Her words are nothing more than a whisper now, as she listens to the fire crackle.

“I hate him. I hate them all really. Rhaegar, Lyanna, Aerys, Arthur, the rest of the Kingsguard.”

Her voice is steel, going from a feather’s weight to a blunt sword.

“I can feel it, the darkness that crawls up the spine, taunting me in a way I never knew before. As though telling me to unleash it and that scares me. I do not want to be like Aerys, I do not want to hurt the people I love. I have already been forced to changed so much, I am no longer the sweet girl I use to be. Hatred and anger have festered in my heart and it has scarred me.”

It feels so ugly to admit this, to admit this fault that feels so glaring in Elia’s eyes. Elia hoped that Lady Mara’s words hang true about Mehmed, that he can help her deal with this because without help she shall surely be lost.

“If I had been married before Aerys got the idea to take me instead, if I had known what I know now, all the heartache and anger I could have spared not just myself but also others.”

Mehmed reaches out toward her and she welcomes his touch as she always does, he pulls her close and tucks her into his side.

“There are many gods that resides in the Underrealm, each one different from the next. The first god is the originator, who was saddened by the actions of his brothers and sisters that he anchored them in the Underrealm instead of Heaven in the skies. He felt it was his own punishment as the elder brother that he did not keep a better eye on them, so he joined them in their eternal atonement, for his atonement is failing at his duty of being not just their brother but creator.”

It is not the first time she has learned from Mehmed about the Moraqi gods; the first one being Amir, god of life, the sun and creator of man. Then the second one being Qaynan, god of smiths and fire. Al-lat, goddess of war and fertility. Yatha, god of justice and salvation. Manat, the goddess of fate, destiny, and death. Atarsamain, goddess of sex, protection, and love. Atlas, god of the skies and stars. Athtar, the god of storms and irrigation. Arsu, the god of horses and explorers. Basamum, the god of health and healing. Khalasa, the god of redemption and vengeance. Haubas, goddess of the sea and consort to Athtar. Hilial, goddess of the moon, consort to Amir. Those were just the major gods, with many minor ones throughout to also pray too.

She finds them plentiful and now she understands why it takes so long for the Moraqi to pray when they almost have twice as many gods as those who follow the Faith.

“Atarsamain wrote in the stars that man is fashioned for love. We love so fiercely that we are willing to kill and die for it. Either for the love of our homeland, for our family or even our friend, we must remember to love in moderation lest we fall to the corruption that desperation of love brings.”

_Near ten thousand Dornish troops had been killed, along with Uncle Lewyn, their love for Dorne, for me drove them to it._

It saddens her but Elia is coming to terms that those deaths will always follow her like a shadow, as a reminder of what her life was like and the cost that came from Rhaegar and his Queen of Love and Beauty’s actions.

“Just as we must love moderately, we must also hate moderately too. Everything in life has a balance, Elia. From water and fire. To happiness and sadness, to life and death. Everything must be equal.”

“How do I do that?” Because she will do anything to stop the pressing of hatred from rising when she thinks about the betrayals and blood laid at her feet.

“You must use it. Find a goal and set your mind to it, use that hate and anger as a ladder to boost yourself from the abyss you find yourself in. Use it and harness it for no one else will care. It is a fine sword that must be balanced, hate and love, anger, and happiness. Even I am still learning, but I have a task at hand that keep my vision clear, my love for my homeland and my desire to have my name etched into the annals of history is what I use my hatred for. Hatred for my enemies even if they are unknown to me now, it is nothing but a push to keep me going and never relent in my goals.”

Elia shifts away from her husband’s side as she studies him, the passionate way his voice sounds, and she grabs his hand. Bowing her head slightly to kiss his hand, her lips brushing over soft scars in gratitude.

“Thank you,” is all she says before she begins on thinking of something to do. Elia does not know what kind of sultana she wants to be outside of being fair and kind to the people she shall help rule. The more she learns about Moraq the more she wants to hoard the knowledge of what she has learned, to begin teaching Deria though she is still small and would rather play in the water and draw.

Her daughter will have everything that was denied to Elia from her weak health growing up. It is a promise writ in blood from those who died for them and Dorne as a whole.

Deciding to put those thoughts on pause she settled her husband’s hand on her thighs, for it has been a week since she has been bedded and she misses the way his body feels over and under hers.

“Kiss me, it has been a week since you have fucked me properly.”

His response is a chuckle as he brings her head near his and their lips brush together before his tongue traces the outline of her bottom lip. His teeth tug on it some before he slips his tongue into her mouth, faint traces of the mint he must have chewed or brushed with before he came to bed.

One of her hands slides up his arm while the other snakes around his neck and musses his hair, though it is already mussed from his short time sleeping in bed before she awoke him.

He pulls her body over his, making her straddle him and she cannot help but notice how good it always seems to feel having her husband, so interested in her outside of trying to get her with child. A husband who uses his tongue and fingers to dance across her skin, tracing patterns and word into her flesh as if to sear it and brand it on her.

His touch always feels feverish and it does so now, as his hand caress the skin under the tunic that she wears. Her hips begin to move against the hardness pressing against her and her moans are barely audible between the languid dance that their tongues are doing.

They break apart as Elia takes off the tunic, leaving herself bare before her husband as he divests himself of his silks, before flipping them over, tugging at the duvet that has now gathered at their feet after all the moving that they just did.

Her head is pressed against the pillows and she suddenly shifts when Mehmed opens her leg with his large hands, his fingers trailing from her thighs and going higher, matching her hitched breath.

She releases a frustrated groan as his fingers have not near her slit, but instead they just caress everywhere **_but_** there, making her become frustrated and as fast as a snake she wraps her legs around Mehmed, her feet sitting upon the apex of his back as she brings him toward her.

“I am not looking for tenderness.”

Many times, Mehmed has taken her different ways, from a man devoted to a goddess, to a man who fucks whores, then to a man who lazily moves his hips as if to prolong the coupling. There is a duality in their marriage bed, where she does not mind being flipped or twisted this way or that, because in the end the pleasure is too much to object to.

She hears his chuckles once more and her lips begin to pout, before one of his hand slams down near her head, startling her somewhat as his eyes have gotten darker just as they usually do when they are filled with lust.

As soon as she is complaining she stops as his fingers move against her slit then inside her, being coated in the wetness that leaves her body, creating a path of arousal. Her eyes close and she just enjoys the way the long length of his fingers feel inside her, the way he can hook them and touch a spot that makes her back arch and cause her head to be further buried in pillows.

Her hands grab ahold of the pillow she was leaning on before, squeezing it tightly as she feels that familiar tightening in her lower belly, the way she tightens around his three fingers before she grunts softly and relaxes flatly against the bed.

One of her legs fall away from his waist and she scoots away, he withdraws his fingers and she opens her eyes as he stares down at the mess in between her legs, the way she can feel herself gasping at something that is no longer filling her.

Licking her lips, she begins to drop her other leg, but it is quickly snatched up and placed upon his shoulders as he bends his face down, straightening his body as he puts his face between her legs.

She is still sensitive and almost begins to rebuke him before she feels the touch of his tongue on her. Her toes immediately curl up, _I can wait._ She thinks, not wanting to end this so soon, after all.

The one-time Elia deign to ask her husband where he learned how to be such a great lover, he shrugged his shoulders and stated, ‘Lys’ as though it was as simple as that. Mayhaps that really is all there is too it, as he soon dips a finger into her, and she allows her mind to drift off. Past corridors that have no end, past dead men who should have never been king anyway along with live ones.

In a way she is thinking of everything yet nothing at all, as a small moan leaves her lips at another orgasm but Mehmed remains where he is, face buried in her warmth and she begins to squeal some at the overbearing feeling between her legs. Mehmed rises and his lips are glistening with the essence of her, she raises a hand, dainty fingers tracing over his lips, as she gently wipes them clean. He bends down to kiss her, and she allows it, getting the soft taste of herself that is hinted with her macadamia nut oil.

Mehmed leans back on his haunches and she can see his mind beginning to work before he takes the pillow in his own hand and flips her over, not sparing her gasp as he shoves the pillow below her stomach.

_I did tell him I was not looking for tenderness tonight._

One of his hands bring up her hips, her back arching perfectly and her face is pressed into the pillow by her head, as Mehmed sits on his knees behind her.

Elia can admit that Rhaegar had been a decent lover, when he came to her bed but there is something about Mehmed that is just – more. More in a way that Rhaegar never was, the way he can be unrelenting in fucking her, that he can be as debauched as Westerosi believe the Dornish truly are.

She finds that her husband is a conundrum, though she understands him, when he takes her like this, she begins to think she does not.

Her husband’s hands touch her back as if trying to find something to hold on to as he snaps his hips against hers when he enters her. Half her face is buried in a pillow and her moans are partially audible, but Mehmed does not need confirmation to continue before he grabs ahold of her shoulders and quite literally fucks her into the mattress.

Her fingers twist around trying to find something to grab ahold onto and she almost regrets telling him to not be gentle with her, as her arch begins to falter the longer his hips snaps against hers, when he lifts her up a little with one of his arms and rubs his thumb across the little knub that brings her something exquisite to feel.

By now she is no longer listening to the logs crackling in the fire, but to her husband’s grunts and groans, the way their skin sound against one another, the way one of his hands leave an indent in her flesh and the way his other hand is grasping her hip. Elia knows she may have a few bruises on the morrow, but she cannot hate that her husband is marking her so like this.

When his lips brush against the back of her neck and he sucks on it just as she is comes, tightening around him as she feels warmth before hotness takes over, feeling the different lengths of spurts happening within her as her sex is filled with her husband’s seed.

They stay in that position for a while, before he gently removes himself and she immediately drops down onto the pillow, her back and sex tingling from all the attention that has been lavished upon her.

Elia rolls over, her hair laying across the pillow as Mehmed walks to retrieve a cloth to clean themselves up, now as she lays there she feels sleepy, all the excitement of the night catching up to her and just wanting a few more hours of sleep before she begins the new day.

His fingers are always gentle when he cleans her up and she does the same for him, before he takes the cloth and tosses it where their clothes lay and she hopes none of the servants enter their room before she can clean up some in the morning.

She watches with half-lidded eyes as Mehmed grabs the duvet, and brings it over them, encasing them in warmth. Her husband lays halfway on her, but she does not mind, she likes feeling her husband in bed with her – especially since she spent so long without one to lay against.

His fingers have gone back to curling around her hair and she wonders if he is not as tired as her, especially since he came to bed later then her.

“Are you not tired?” Elia asks, covering a yawn as her eyes blink slowly, each blink making her eyelid take longer to recover.

“Usually we talk after sex, I am a creature of habit it seems.”

Elia just laughs.

Posted: 05/13/2020

Edited: 05/13/2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really hope everyone is being safe out here! Please take care and practice social distancing.  
> <3.


	16. Something Wicked Comes This Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arrival at Casterly Rock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! This arc will probably be my fave. Sometimes I'll see this story in my head and sentences of dialogue come to me and I just write them down or open my word docx. on my phone and store them to implement in this story later. There is SO much dialogue that's going to happen. Fucking hell, I'm like a dog with a bone with this story. The Cersei & Elia conversation... UGH, because I love to hate canon!Cersei so I'm throwing her a bone in this fic and yes, my love for Jaime is slowly transferring to Cersei. She won't be like "oh I love Tyrion now" but she will be the "I'm that bitch yall love to hate so deal with it. My family is better than yours" Cersei we all know and love. 
> 
> Also, Also, ao3 posted on Twitter that on May 21st their doing some kind of maintenance so the email system may be down for a few days. I wanted to go ahead and post this chapter while I'm working up on the next one. So if you do not receive any email notifications about updates, its just ao3 under construction. Be sure to check your 'subscription' page, to stay on top of your subscriptions then if that's the case. I normally rely on my emails so this will be new for me, at least for a couple of days.

When they left Sunspear to depart for Lannisport for the tourney and wedding of Ser Jaime Lannister and Denyse Hightower, Elia had chosen to leave behind her daughter.

It was a hard decision to make, but Deria had been happy to remain behind with her haggle of cousins, and even Lady Mara who was choosing to remain behind as she installed more people from the Moraqi court to the court of the Sandship for her daughter. She knows her daughter has been taken by Lady Mara, soaking up all the affection that is freely given to her, with new toys and languages to learn, she also knows that Lady Mara plays the zither for her daughter and has been showing her how to play too.

Elia had almost thought to bring her daughter, but the idea of bringing Deria to Casterly Rock and having her see Rhaegar or even Rhaella will raise more questions than answers than Elia is comfortable with. It was much kinder to leave her in the care of Dorne, away from those who would wish to confuse her young mind.

Her brother Doran decided to give the old title, Lord of the Sandship to Oberyn, the title had not been held since their forefather Mors Martell, the first Prince of Dorne. Doran wants Oberyn close and not in some holdfast outside of Sunspear, Elia is glad to know that her brothers are working hand in hand and not being on the opposite sides of the spectrum as they are usually ought to be.

Deria had kissed Elia goodbye, offering even a shy kiss to Mehmed who had picked her up before she dashed off back to her uncle Doran. Mehmed had looked pleased that he has made some leeway with her daughter with his gifts and soft engagements of conversation with her when they all have lunch together. It is a slow thing, of building trust but Elia has taken great joy in watching it happen, like a flower budding for the first time. Deria is easy to love, her soft smiles and long lashes hiding her inquisitive nature.

Some days she feels guilty at erasing her daughter’s past and those who had been in her life previously, but it was not Elia who had set this in motion, but she had to be the one to see it through – regardless of her personal feelings on the matter.

Ashara however, chose to remain behind on her own will, though Elia knew she did not wish to face Arthur. The internal politics of House Dayne was slow to recover face in Dorne, some still eyeing them with suspicion because of Arthur’s misdeeds and inaction during the war. Though Dawn being returned to Starfall has softened the spears that face House Dayne in anger.

Elia knows that Damon Dayne’s son Gerold is said to hold great promise with his sparing, the Daynes are hoping that Gerold has the potential to become the new Sword of the Morning. Elia fears what that pressure of success will do to the young boy, she herself knows the unwanted duty and pressure of ensuring the legacy of a house.

She had not wished to be married to the crown prince, nor aspired to be queen. Her suitors had not been worthy enough in the opinion of her mother and Oberyn, though Ser Baelor came close, but they had no reason to turn away from Aerys when he sought her for her drops of Valyrian blood.

It would not be the first time she wished she had made off with Oberyn when they had been forced to exile him in appeasement for his actions. Elia would have gladly cut off her hair and passed as his squire during his time at the Citadel, or even sailed with him to Essos as he helped start a sellsword company. If it had meant escaping Aerys’ clutches, she would have done anything had she known what had been in store for her. The major bright spot that came out of everything was her daughter and Dorne leaving the now Six Kingdoms once more. It has been proven again that while Dorne has always been the other, we were always better suited with our own machinations then those of the Crown.

Leaving her daughter had been hard but she rested well on the voyage knowing she left her in great hands. The voyage had been spent with her sitting with her ladies, Myria, Lerra and Janice. Sometimes Jade joining them with her own ladies as they play games and music. The tapestry she had stitched and embroidered for Jaime had been packed with great care, Elia had seen the final product of the sword Mehmed had crafted for her golden knight.

It would not replace the Valyrian sword, Brightroar that has been lost to the ages when Tommen II went missing on his voyage to Valyria, but it is a fine crafted sword made from siyah. Her husband had consulted with her, for she knew Jaime well, outside of the few conversations Mehmed has had with him when Jaime was here in Sunspear.

Elia hopes that Jaime will be glad to see his gifts, she even included some Lengii silks and fabrics to Denyse Hightower, hoping that the woman would be like Elia and craft her own gowns to wear about. Her mother always said a woman’s fashion can convey what she cannot say, only after her time in King’s Landing did, she truly know what that meant. Elia has taken great pains to have gowns made that show how she feels, she feels more comfortable in the Han’s black then she ever did when she wore the Targaryens’. It was a hard feeling to digest considering she was a Targaryen also even without marriage.

_I would have rather remained one without marriage, then to have been as stifled as I was with it._

Elia had been laying down, watching her ladies play a game of cyvasse, when it had been announced they would be porting soon.

The past few weeks, she has been thinking of Dorne and Moraq, trying to put her mind to a project that will help not just the healing of Dorne from the war but also give it more prestige. Now more than ever she was excited to see the new land she would call home, to see the place that helped shape both Mehmed and Jade. To meet her good father who by all accounts is a funny man, easy to please and quick to laugh when he is not bogged down by his council and advisors.

To see the Rhoyne and touch the waters that her ancestors sailed upon, while she shall miss Dorne, she feels as though the door that had been opened while she was in the capital had been brutally closed shut by the actions of others. It had been a dark place to dwell and as of late the new door that had been open was promising, full of light and promises that could be kept, not just empty words and platitudes that held nothing but false gold with no worth to them.

Elia rose from her position, her cousin Myria putting away the board and pieces to cyvasse in a flat chest that housed it. Elia did not know who would be sent to meet them, but she dressed a little warmer for winter had finally come to the rest of Westeros. While in Dorne it has been chilly, Elia had taken more care in the wardrobe she packed for their stay at Casterly Rock. Warmer gowns and cloaks to fight off the coldness, already she missed the heat and warmth of Dorne.

Jade and Oberyn had met Elia on the deck, Mehmed already being there in his usual black attire, while she had seen him wear different colors, she finds he looks best in black. His tanned skin is complimented by the color and enhances his hair color. His black kaftan stretched over his muscles, with a golden sash across his waist that held his sword belt, along with a dagger tucked against his stomach. His turban sat against his curls and his boots had recently been polished also, shinning in the western sun.

Just as Mehmed wore his house’s colors, so too does Oberyn, her brother never missing the opportunity to flaunt his physique nor prowess with his orange duvet and the red vipers carefully stitched in his clothes. Her brother has been growing out his hair, preferring to keep it now in the traditional Rhoynar way men wore their hair, long and tied back.

_Or that Jade has commented that she likes his hair long, so Oberyn has decided to keep it._

Jade often wore white, something the women in Leng wore, along with it being accented by gold for her YiTish ancestry. Jade’s gown wrapped around her body, accented the slight curves she possessed with her headpiece being made from silver and black for Moraq that had long thin strands that rested on the top of her thighs with a black belt with large gold hoops looping around her waist. Her cloak was black, but a red viper rested on the left side of the clasp just above where her heart rested. 

Elia knows their mother and father are laughing in one of the seven heavens, both their parents had lamented on Oberyn playing fast and loose with women, never sticking to one bed. Now Elia watches as her wayward brother is brought to heel by his wife, though Jade is not the simpering wife either. Elia often finds her brother and good sister sparring with one another, one spear and two thin swords clashing against one another in the training yard on most days.

Elia thinks her brother is just glad he does not have the traditional wife by his side, instead he has someone he has a lot of things in common with. With the way he saunters in to break their fasts in the morning, he almost always looks debauched or gleeful so he must be pleased with his wife in their marital bed too. 

Though Elia herself cannot lift a sword to spar with her own husband, they spar through games of cyvasse and go, battling their wits at trying to take as many pieces of the other as they can. One of their matches had lasted more than four hours, before Elia admitted defeat. Though she is sure, Mehmed had snuck away a few of her pieces when she left to go make water. Now when they play, she is sure to count her pieces, when Elia had returned and noticed her pieces missing, Mehmed had simply shrugged his shoulders, but she caught the tug at his lips and rolled her eyes in response.

“Are you ready?” Mehmed stands in front of them, waiting for Elia to join her arms with his as they begin disembarking their ship, a mix of the Moraqi Shadow Guards and Dornish guards following after them.

Elia has taken to carrying the dagger Jaime has given her on her hip, though it is hidden by her heavy wool black cloak. The inside has been fitted with silk, double stitched to trap heat against her body, while the outer part is made from dyed wool, colored in onyx with silver and gold embroidered throughout of crescent moons and eagles. Elia had added a small embroidered outline of a snake with yellow eyes on both clasps of her cloak. Her crown sat nestled against her hair that had been done in intricate braids throughout, the rest falling loose as she now usually wore since returning to Dorne. Elia never liked the overcomplicated designs that she had to wear in King’s Landing, and she would not attempt to do so again.

“Yes,” Elia grabs hold of his arm, her hands resting lightly as they step in unison down the plank that lays adjacent to the dock. Elia is immediately able to make out the familiar golden hairs that the Lannisters wear in pride just as much as their gold.

Elia looks around the port, seeing the familiar standards of some Crownlands’ houses and even a few from the Stormlands also.

They are met by Ser Jaime himself and she is surprised that it him that welcomes them and not some other Lannister.

“Here I thought, some other Lannister would be sent to do your job.” Not that she isn’t glad to see her golden knight, but she knows how busy it can be to plan a wedding. Elia knows that Lord Tywin is sparing no expense at his son and heir finally getting wed, he had thought his heir stolen from him and now that Jaime has been returned, she knows he is quite eager to show off.

“Ah, but who else would you rather greet you? Surely not my uncles or sister.” Jaime gives her a smile, that seems even brighter than the last time she has saw it. How funny time is, to heal such wounds that a man who had seem just as ragged and tired as her can smile fully without bitterness.

Elia reaches out her free arm and hand, Jaime takes it and kisses it before doing the same to Jade and sharing a nod Mehmed and Oberyn.

Elia and Oberyn have already been to Casterly Rock, but just as they did all those years ago when the Martells came for betrothals, when guest arrived from all over in Sunspear, she knows Lord Tywin has commanded for everything to be clean. Truly the port, while hustling with other people and sailors, it is clean and welcoming as they arrive at horses and carriages that will bring them to castle.

It had taken an hour to climb up the Rock, Elia keeping company with Jade and their ladies as the men rode horses, though she could barely hear their conversation.

Jade had only brought two ladies to attend her, her cousins Clara and Mi Yue. The carriage was wafted in conversation, but Elia twittered with her cloak, her hands occasionally brushing against the hilt of her sheathed dagger.

“Why so nervous?” Jade was sitting right next to Elia and had reached out to stop her hands from grabbing ahold of her cloak or dagger again.

“I do not wish to see Rhaegar nor his lady.”

The hatred that Elia felt still rested deep within her and she did not know what she would do or say when she saw them. A tourney of this size and the wedding of the son of the Hand of the King was hard to ignore, she knows they will be here. If she had to see anyone, she would rather see Rhaella and she did hope she has brought Viserys along too. Elia also wanted to see Rhaella’s new daughter, Daenerys Stormborn she was called, the last child of Aerys.

“You could always poison them,” Elia watches as Jade gives her a smile, the one with too many teeth to be considered sweet.

“Poison? Surely, you jest.” Both siblings, Mehmed and Jade have a sense of humor that is witty, but at times one never knows if they are joking until Mehmed tugs his lips or Jade laughs, sweet the sound is.

“I have learned many things in Asshai. Do you wish them dead? Do you wish to see that girl bleed out her womb? No child to ever be born to them again?”

Jade fires off the questions and Elia would be quick to deny, but she **_has_** thought of this before. Had she not cursed them both to every god she knew, The Seven, Mother Rhoyne and even the Valyrian ones?

_I prayed to any god that would hear my pleas._

“I do not want my hands soaked in more blood then there already is. The ghost of ten thousand men shall follow me until my death.”

Mehmed has commanded men in pursuit of his own goals, battle tested by the scars on his hand and the faint one on his face.

_Would he have lost that many men in battle?_

No, Mehmed is methodical in the ways of war if their games of go and cyvasse are anything to go upon. Even without him taking her pieces for fun, he always snatches her dragon, while she attempts to kill his king, only succeeding once when she had taken his dragon with a catapult. Though she thinks he went easy on her in that match, he plots and plans like Doran when her brother plays. Mehmed and Doran had only played once together and it had been a stalemate that they had all watched, both taking out the other’s dragon with their catapult and trebuchet, the match had went on for hours before they acquiesced a draw and dinner had been served.

Rhaegar had no scars before the war, no training outside of the sparring he did with members of the Kingsguard, with Arthur but even then, that prowess had been wasted on guarding a tower instead of on the battlefield.

“You are merciful. Not many women would have chosen the route you have.” This time the smile she is given is less malicious, it was so much like Oberyn’s when he has found something truly malicious to spite someone with.

“Not merciful, just tired of blood. Oh, I hate them, but what happens when they die, a little boy king having to fix what his father and brother ruined? Viserys was always sweet and kind. Being king would destroy him.”

How many times has she heard Oberyn confess that he is glad to have been born last, so far away from the Sun throne as to not have to rule and be burdened by it? Too many to count. People always say her baby brother is quick to anger but he is perceptive in that way that most men are not. He can recognize his faults, but it is in that way that him and Doran work well together, two sides of the same coin and Elia is the hand that holds it.

“You still care for them?”

It was funny how she could hate Rhaegar when she thought she loved him, but that hatred did not transfer to Rhaella and Viserys nor even the newborn Daenerys.

“Yes, they have done me no wrong. Before everything happened, I had cherished Rhaella like a second mother when my own mother died before she could see me wed. Viserys was so sweet, not even Aerys’ influence could curb that away. Viserys doted on my Deria, a kind uncle just like uncle Lewyn was to me and my brothers.”

Loreza Martell had died before she could ever see her only daughter wed, just months after her betrothal and Elia had been crushed. Yet, being friends and a daughter to her mother’s best friend had soothe something deep within her, which had been ripped the moment Rhaegar severed their ties.

“They are still my cousins, after all. I bear them no ill-will.” 

_What use would it be to hate Rhaella and her youngest children, to hate Viserys who had once called me ‘sister’ when I brushed his silver locks and fed him fruit when Aerys would take Rhaella to their rooms?_

“You are too kind Elia,” Jade rubs her thumbs in circles against the warm flesh of Elia’s hand and this time it is Elia who smiles.

“Only to those who deserve it.”

The rest of the ride was spent with musings of what the tourney would be like, with Harrenhal as her last comparison, anything would be better then being shamed so publicly again.

Elia had taken to task to crafting the finest gowns for both the tourney and wedding, since this would be the first time anyone outside of Dorne saw her after leaving King’s Landing disgraced. Every gown she has brought has been eyed with careful detail, not a stitch out of place, for if Westeros thought Dorne was suffering being out of the King’s peace, then they would find themselves correct at the glamor and jewels that she would be wearing about Casterly Rock.

She had her pearl ring on her left hand, and the morganite one on her right. The Shadow Guard she had been assigned correspond to her ring, pinkish in color outside of Daedra and Seraeron who wore their mask that showed their higher status, the rest of her guard wore the masks that matched the color of her ring. Her crown sat on top of her head, and Elia felt better at facing the two people who she hated most when she stepped out the carriage, Mehmed having shooed away her guards to help her down himself.

“So attentive, you know, for a man who never thought of marriage you are doing surprisingly well as a husband.” Elia smiles lazily as she takes Mehmed’s hand in hers.

Elia could hear Jade snicker behind her, because outside of the women in his life no one else dared to tease the Sultan of Moraq.

“Yes, Mehmed always shirked the duty of marriage but who knew he could wear it so well? Oh, I am sure papa will be pleased to see this.”

If there was any proof of her new husband getting along with her brothers unlike her old one, is that he had many things in common with them both. The dry wit that Doran also had, saying things so bluntly you could only laugh. While also being dotting like Oberyn with children because they were innocent, and it was no pain to show them kindness. Oberyn and Mehmed both liked to spar with one another, quick movements in the sands of the training yard.

Jade had began laughing earnestly after tucking herself into Oberyn’s side, whispering something in his ear before Oberyn too laughed.

“No man would dare cross me, sister.” Mehmed had turned his neck and Elia could see the sparkling in his eyes as he kept walking forward with Ser Jaime watching it all. She cannot blame him, at first Elia had thought Mehmed to be a serious man, until his calculated wit and dry humor had been made known to her.

“Alas! I am not a man; my husband can account to that.”

At this, they all laughed, especially since they all knew Oberyn had laid with both men and women; it would not have mattered either way. Elia noticed the looks they were getting, from the people around the castle as they were led in. Elia could hear the whisperings and the eyes falling upon them, especially her.

Her hands that had been gentle on Mehmed’s arm now began to tighten; she was still not comfortable with the stares. First, they had been pitying when she left the capital but now, they are inquisitive.

_I do not like them either way._

“I imagine my childhood would have been easier if you had been born a boy. Then I would not have to have learned the zither nor pipa to make you happy.”

A snort could be heard as Jaime led them towards their apartments, where their belongings would be brought, and they could rest a while before taking dinner.

“I did not know you played an instrument,” Elia wondered out loud, curious for she has never heard her husband play.

“Most men in Moraq know how to play some form of instrument. It is hard not to when the Weeping Mountains carry down music on the winds from the Grand Temple.”

Elia can feel him shrug his shoulders and now she is more eager to hear him play, Rhaegar had been lovely at his harp if she had to give him one credit, even begrudgingly.

“Mehmed is quite good at the pipa and zither, mama taught him to play before I was born. There use to be a game we played with the zither, who was quicker with their hands and wit. Playing as fast as we could before we missed a note.”

Elia covered her smile, stealing a glance at her husband at learning something new about him all these moons later. She tilts her head, nodding silently to herself because he was a good lover. His hands were always hot to touch, searching her flesh for something that only he knew he could find.

“Then mayhaps you should play tonight; I would like to see this game you play.”

Oberyn and Doran had not one musical note in them while Elia could sing, they had played other games. Elia having a hand in some of Oberyn’s shenanigans but never being found out because she was simply ‘Elia’, who was always good and behaved. Though Elia is sure that their mother and even Doran figured out that Elia had been the guiding hand to some of Oberyn’s misdeeds, but she loved indulging him when they were younger and they never called her out on it so it had continued long after.

She had spoken to Oberyn just days before, soothing his mind about his worrying about her and her abrupt leaving in Doran’s solar that day. Elia did not want her brothers to worry about her any more than they should, and they had left it at that.

“If that is what you wish,” Mehmed looks down at her, and her hand relaxes back into the gentle embrace that it was in earlier.

_He can read my nervousness, of course he can._

In the way that a snake watches in the grass, the eagle flies above watching before descending. It is very hard to get something past Mehmed’s eyes without him knowing about it but then again that vigilance has been indoctrinated in him from an early age.

“Here are your rooms. Will you be taking dinner in the great hall?”

Jaime had led Oberyn and Jade to their rooms, disappearing before reappearing just as quickly to leave them alone, Elia could only assume he wanted to speak to her if he returned so fast.

After Mehmed had opened the door, Elia had stepped in, admiring the rooms until she realized why it looked so familiar.

“These are the rooms we stayed in the last time we were here! I cannot believe you remembered,” she whispered as she eyed the familiar bed she had slept in during their stay.

Jaime was leaning against the door, his hair falling against his shoulder, his eyes crinkling into a smile as Mehmed looked around the room also.

“I figured you would be comfortable here. Not too far from our own apartments. Though we are no longer children, I can honestly say this has been a long time coming.”

Elia notices how his voice trails off and his eyes have dimmed some, while Elia and Jaime have many things in common, mourning the lost of their mothers was a big one.

“I am sure she would be proud. Look at you now.”

Elia could recall the gifts her mother had sent off to Casterly Rock when Joanna Lannister gave birth to her twins.

“I can only hope so. Denyse is eager to meet you; I just have a small favor to ask however.”

At this, her eyebrows lift, as she can hear servants coming and bringing up their things, though they did not enter the room. Jaime must have spoken to their guards to leave the door closed until one of them opened it for their belonging to get settled.

“Of course, what is it?”

Elia tilts her head as she walks back over toward him, momentarily forgetting her husband is in the same room.

Elia does not like the idea of Jaime feeling distressed and she has spent enough time with him to notice the downward turn of his lips, the way he straightens himself from the way he leaned against the door frame leisurely.

“Could you speak with Cersei?”

_Ah._

Elia takes a glance at Mehmed who is watching in silence, but she nods her head in agreeance, wanting to soothe any troubles that her friend may have before his wedding.

“I just, she just doesn’t understand. Not like you or I. That the way things were, can no longer be. I think she may accept it better hearing it from you, another woman.”

_The one woman who knows the truth of your relationship._

“I shall speak to her as soon as I can. You mentioned dinner, I can assume she will be there?”

“Yes, along with the queen dowager and Rhaegar and Lyanna,” she listens as he sighs, almost sounding haggard. Elia notes that he did not use the typical honorifics, and this brings a smile to her face.

Her champion through and through.

At this, Elia laughs quietly, “are they already working your nerves ser?”

He runs a weary hand across his face and into his golden locks, before offering her up that smile, she loves so much.

“Very much so, if my father weren’t so deliriously satisfied right now at me marrying, I am sure the wolf would be thrown from the cliffs, by his hand or even Cersei’s. Her Grace, Rhaella is wonderful though, she was with me in the sept earlier, offering prayers to my lady mother and even Princess Loreza.”

Elia nods sagely, the sisterhood between Rhaella Targaryen and her former ladies in waiting, Loreza Martell and Joanna Lannister had been strong even when they were all alive, now with Rhaella being the last one left, she only has her prayers to offer instead of letters.

“I can assume we shall be dining with the new king and queen?”

It was the first time Mehmed spoke since they had entered the room and Elia turned back towards him, eyeing him carefully as he removed his turban and set it down on top of the table in the middle of the room.

“Yes, your Grace.” Elia feels herself trapped between to men and she knows if Oberyn had followed them into this room, he would be mirroring the same look as Jaime.

Mehmed hums in his throat and Elia can already see that gleam that enters his eyes, the one that turns his eyes from the familiar brown she loves to onyx like hers, as he claps his hands together, his smile slow and dangerous to form onto his lips.

“Well, it shall be a merry affair won’t it?”

Posted: 05/19/2020

Edited: 05/19/2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been talking to wingsofthenight and I have a total SI Dorne-centric/ Elia fic cooking in my brain. Like...the sarcasm...the badassery...Elia along for the ride with Oberyn and his bullshit...Olyvar and Mors being alive and Doran being the BDE Prince we know he is...I just...I HAVE ALOT planned for that lol. 
> 
> Considering I'll be in grad school come August, it may just be one shots but like 12k+ words, or maybe a fic all together, Idk which way I'll be formatting it but I will be doing it, that's a promise. The premise is too good to pass up and I've already got this crack fic in my head and it won't leave me alone. So there's that lmao. I've been inspired by 'Down a Rabbit Hole to Westeros' by Lamia_Kuei. A great fic about Stannis our favorite Mannis, but not enough Dorne for me so I'll be off to create my own. 
> 
> So I'm only going to do 2 fics at a time, because I do not want my hand in so many pots or stretching myself thin but considering I am aiming for 2 chapters a week now, I should be able to close up this fic at 40 chapters maybe 45, with those last 5 being epilogues on the future generation and what not. At most the cap for this fic is 45 and min is 40. 
> 
> Considering the influx of Dorne/Elia fics, I'm just going to call this the Southern Renaissance for our favorite Southern kingdom and we love to see it!


	17. The Cycle Continues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Circumventing power and advice freely given.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This world if fucking crazy, that's it. Like not be funny, but I'm just like "now would a be a good time for aliens to show up" because with all the shit happening, extraterrestrials would really be the cherry on top lmao.

The time spent before dinner had be spent on unpacking for the week, they would remain on Casterly Rock. The whole week would be spent in a haze of celebration, which Elia had no doubt the people of Westeros needed.

A bath had been brought in before dinner, her and Mehmed had stayed in their apartments as their servants filtered in and out to bring in a bath for them. When the servants left them to their peace, Elia had begun to undress herself, discarding her crown first and then the rest of her jewels and clothes.

“Are you not nervous?”

Elia had just settled in the hot tub, feeling her muscles relax when Mehmed had posed his question.

Leaning back against the rim of the tub, she turned her head slightly, a perfectly arched eyebrow raised as she lifted a cloth to begin washing herself.

“It is not the first time I have dined with my enemies. I do not imagine it shall be the last.”

Her words were met with a grunt as she felt the whisper of his fingers glide across her wet skin. Elia leaned forward in the tub, as Mehmed climbed in behind her and she collected the linen cloth once more and resumed cleaning herself before she helped her husband.

The first time he had gotten in a tub with her, she had squeaked in surprise but soon learned that this was common enough in Moraq. Especially in the royal apartments where the former harem’s bathhouse was now used by the sultana and her ladies. In the sultan’s own chamber, he too had bathing pools that was for his private use and to share with his own wife if wanted.

No more questions were asked after that and they bathed silently, Elia taking the time to wash her own hair and even Mehmed’s as she marveled at the way his curls colored when wet.

“I am half afraid you only married me for my hair.”

Elia snorts on a laugh, splashing some water in his face, as she sat on her knees and washed his face gently. It was odd how she could make these little comparisons, how they could be made in this new marriage compared to her old. When she thinks upon it, mayhaps her and Rhaegar had never been friends for they had never shared this level of comfort with one another. They had never spoke so lowly like this between each other nor had they personal jokes to share.

With her record of men, she does not know if she trusts herself to identify what she is feeling for Mehmed, because her love for Arthur and Rhaegar had both been wrong and she would rather not put a name to this out of fear she is wrong once more. Her fondness for him grows daily and she is glad to have him as a friend and lover, but she is half afraid to peek into the door that sits in her heart.

“Oh yes, I admit I was skeptical when my brother produced those letters from Norvos. But alas, when I saw your hair, I just knew you were the one for me.” She drawled, rinsing out the cloth and setting it aside on the stool next to the tub.

“Here I thought, it was because of my personality.”

At this she doesn’t even bother snorting and lets out a tinkling laugh, her eyes are dancing with entertainment as she begins to rise from the tub knowing they have to dress soon to make it to the dining hall for dinner.

“Oh yes, that too,” she replies glibly.

_I must also find the Lioness of the Rock too. Though I doubt she will welcome the company of a Dornishwoman, not like her brother does._

Before she gets a foot over the tub a warm hand shoots out and grabs her wrist, steadying her as she lowers her gaze to meet her husband’s.

Time is a strange thing, she believes because just moons ago she would not be comfortable naked and wet under a man’s gaze, especially one with such intensity like Mehmed’s but she is silent as she watches him watch her. The time has passed for shyness, because she cannot count how many times she has laid in their bed, eyes half lidded while her sex was tumescent as his hands drifted across her body like a ship on a tide.

Mehmed also stands up, towering over her with his tall frame and he grabs a robe from the stool and helps her out of the tub, not caring about the amount of water their both dropping onto the floor.

At the questioning expression that rests upon her face, she listens as he simply states, “I may not always make you laugh.”

_What man can promise that he can?_

“I know that,” she ties the robe around her waist and grabs the second and larger robe for him.

Moments like these, she truly sees Mehmed for the brutally honest man he is. He is not painting her some illusion, nor is he even attempting to do so. Truly if there is one thing she really does love about Mehmed; it is his honesty and his ability to never mince his words.

Elia had watched her own mother and father and the way they navigated through their own marriage. She knows that Loreza Martell had met Maron Gargalen in the Water Gardens as most children do in Dorne. That they were friends and when the time came to choose a husband, her grandfather had allowed her mother to choose her groom and Loreza did not need to look far with Salt Shore so near.

Her mother had chosen a second son, one who did not bring much, besides the Orphans of the Greenblood’s ancestry in his veins, the loyalty and honor he possessed along with his companionship.

Elia knows from Doran, the blow her parents were dealt when two sons, Mors and Olyvar died as infants in the cradle. Yet their marriage had went on, allowing both herself and Oberyn to born just a year apart.

No marriage is perfect, she herself knows this firsthand not to mention having a front row seating at Aerys and Rhaella’s own marriage. Elia is not naïve nor foolish enough to think her new marriage shall cover all the wounds of her heart, nor shall it be some fairy tale that is told to babes before they too learn that life is not a song.

This time, Elia is not going in as blindly as before, nor as naïve or even as hopeful as she once would have been had she not been married to Rhaegar. Elia has learned her lesson and has taken it to task to see this marriage prevail – no matter the storms that may come upon them.

“So long as we can come together at the end of the day and laugh, I do not mind the rest.”

Because too many nights, especially after Harrenhal did her and Rhaegar part ways with her words being held in her throat that she could not scream and yell at him. Berate him and curse him for embarrassing her so, she does not mind arguments and disagreements so long that at the end of the day, they are in the same bed and can share a laugh.

 _I shall be another foreign bride once more and I will deal with that when the time comes._ Already she has been planning on the ways she can endear herself to the Moraqi people, to make them love her as she shall love them.

She wants the artificial love she must buy to soon turn into real love, when the people see she is a queen that cares. To leave a good mark, because Mehmed knows he shall do great things for his empire and she only wants to do the same, not just for Moraq but also for Dorne.

Her thoughts carry herself away, when she feels those familiar warm hands cradle her face, gently and softly as his thumbs brushed across her cheeks.

Their eyes meet once more and she kisses the palm of his right hand before she gives up a smile, “are we going to dress?”

Her husband only hums in approval and their servants and maids have perfect timing as they enter the apartments, already making their way towards the bathing area, cleaning up the mess they had made and Elia goes off to look at their wardrobe.

Time had been taken to look at Mehmed’s wardrobe while in Sunspear and have some gowns and cloaks made to match some of his own garments.

His usual attire being black with silver and gold accents, but Elia had opted for a dark brown gown, that bordered near black. It complemented her skin tone and had gold embroidery throughout, in soft patterns that did well to match the dark contrast of Mehmed’s own kaftan.

She had taken a seat in front of the looking glass, with a cloth bounding her hair to get it dry, as she massaged her oil into her skin.

Her ladies were already dressed, and they helped her apply kohl around her eyes, being careful with the lining and applying a balm to her lips that was scented by apricots that showed her natural pink pouty lips. Her hair had been brushed and styled with a braid on each side of her head falling against her breast, with the rest brushed behind her shoulders and letting her curls rest against her back and waist.

Her Nath ring was reattached to the gold domed earrings she wore, and her crown had been placed on her head.

“You look good, cousin.” Myria had smiled up at Elia as she fixed the sandals that Elia wore, clasping on the black snake around her right ankle. The snake was coiled around her ankle three times with its citrine eyes facing outward.

“Thank you,” she replied as she looked toward where Mehmed is being dressed by his own attendants.

Elia could only hope that Oberyn would not be late with his own dressing, he was so meticulous about his clothes.

“Myria, please go and see what your wayward cousin is doing. I hope he is dressed.”

Walking toward her husband, she smooths out his kaftan, her hands briefly brushing against the dagger he always keeps on the front of his person.

“Is it too late to ask if you are going to be on your best behavior?” Her arms and hands immediately sought his out, as they walked towards the door.

“Do you doubt I will not be able to keep myself in line?” He peers down at her, but she does not shrink under his gaze.

“No, not at all,” because she knows Mehmed enough to know that he is much too calculative in both his actions and words to ever let someone take him out of character.

Elia would have rather be in Casterly Rock without Rhaegar and Lyanna, but the gods can only humor her so much before humbling her.

Really, Elia was more concerned about Oberyn, because he baby brother, while he did not care for any of the suitors for her hand, he especially did not like Rhaegar. Elia knows that really all she needs to do is ask her brother or even point at the man and Oberyn would find a way to kill him or kill anyone for her really. Yet, she had spoken true to Jade just earlier when they arrived that she did not want or need more blood either on her hands nor conscious.

Their journey out of the room is quiet, and Elia is pleased to see Oberyn and Jade dressed as they leave their own chambers.

“You did not have to send Myria after me,” Oberyn immediately stated as they neared her and Mehmed.

Her lips begin to pout, immediately thinking of all the times their mother or father summoned them and Oberyn was still stuck in his rooms getting dressed. Filtering through different silks and doublets, as though his life depended on it.

“My memory is long Oby, you were the worst out of all of us when it came to being dressed.”

It did not matter how many attendants their mother gave Oberyn, she can recall that it would always be mama and papa, with Elia and Doran waiting on Oberyn as he bounced into their mother’s solar late coming from his apartments.

Oberyn clucks his tongue at her in response and she smiles easily enough knowing she has won this little would be argument.

Funnily enough they do not need a guide to the dining hall, for Casterly Rock was busy with noise. Servants and maid littering throughout the hall, with fabrics and trays, bowing in respect to them although she could still feel lingering gazes. The last time Dornishmen were here at Casterly Rock, it had been when their mother had been seeking marriages with her friend Joanna Lannister.

_Time is coming back full circle, so it appears._

The week before they left Sunspear, she had spent time describing and telling Mehmed of all the noblemen and ladies that they may encounter here and to be aware of Lord Varys spies, children most often from Elia’s experience.

As they walked near the dining hall, their guards are close near their rear, while Elia herself left her dagger behind, she knows that Oberyn must carry a dozen on his person now, never without his small blades just like he is teaching little Lady Nym. Elia does not want to even think of what Jade has up her long-slit sleeves, Elia does not know who is more dangerous with their slyness, Oberyn or Jade.

_Possibly both._

Elia had hoped to see the Lady Cersei before dining, but she will have to catch her later in the evening before they retire back to their room to have some words with her. The sooner she takes care of this task for Jaime, the sooner her friend can relax and enjoy his wedding and tourney.

They stand outside the dining hall where the doors are closed, as they wait to be announced. Elia turned her head and look backwards towards Oberyn, who gives her a wink either it be for reassurance or just his usual attitude she cannot be sure.

Her tongue darts out past her lips as she turned forward, tasting the soft taste of the apricots in her lip balm. She feels nervous but looks up in surprise when she feels Mehmed pull her closer into his side, he gives her his usual tug of the lips which helped her relax into his side.

_There is no need to be nervous, I knew this had to happen when I had accepted Jaime’s invitation._

While Elia had been humiliated and sent away, it had not been her humiliation alone but the humiliation of the entirety of Dorne. It would do no good to shrink back in the face of her enemies, especially not when she used to put on a mask and sit with Aerys at dinner and he was someone who had disgusted and scared her both.

The Casterly Rock seneschal announces their party and the doors open, for a moment there is an immediate cut in conversation. No one speaks as they enter the hall, though already Elia could see Jaime and his betrothed making their way towards her and she relaxed even more.

_Leave it to Jaime to be my fair knight and rescuer again._

Her smile is genuine when they near her and she immediately takes note of Denyse Hightower. She is young yes, but just two years behind Jaime which is not bad; Elia also makes note of the girl’s body, the way her hips are slightly wide. She hums silently in her throat, knowing Lord Tywin must be pleased that his soon to be good daughter has child-bearing hips to give him golden heirs to his house.

“Your Graces, I am glad you have decided to dine with us. Please, allow me to introduce my bride, Lady Denyse Hightower.”

The animosity between a Dornish and Reachman is infamous throughout the kingdoms, but House Martell has never had any true issue with House Hightower, especially when it took their house years to pick up their reputation after Alicent Hightower helped bring the kingdoms to war with the Blacks versus Greens. It also did not hurt that Oberyn had laid with a Hightower septa that led to the birth of her blue-eyed niece, Tyene. Though as far as everyone else was concerned, it had just been a septa from the Reach.

“Your Graces, I am pleased to meet you. It is good to see you again, Queen Elia and Prince Oberyn.”

When Elia and Oberyn went to Oldtown to meet Ser Baelor, they had come across little Denyse Hightower, who had shyly waved to them and Elia had been smitten with the little girl when Lord Leyton had introduced them to his family.

“So, we meet again Lady Denyse, it pleases me greatly to know that sweet Jaime here has found him such a suitable bride.”

_Leave it to Lord Tywin to already begin circumventing the power that the Tyrells will have once a daughter is born for the new crown prince._

While Elia may detest the man for his earlier insult toward her house, but she can respect the power plays that Lord Tywin deals in, as though it is nothing but a piece of gold to be traded.

As they make conversation, Elia can hear other conversations begin to pick up once more, she has no doubt that Rhaegar and his Lady Lyanna are somewhere in this very room, where most people are congregating but she has no wish to go near them. Not now, not ever; breathing the very same air as them is enough to rile her up.

The conversation drifted pass pleasantries and they begin speaking of the tourney that is to be held, “tell me Your Grace, will you be jousting in the tourney?”

Jaime directs this question at Mehmed, and he appears to think of it, his hand going up to stroke his short beard as he often does when he is in thought.

“Yes, I believe I will. We have our own tourneys in Moraq, though I am curious to see how you Westerosi play with yours.”

Hearing these words, Elia lifts her gaze from Lady Denyse, to her husband, wondering why he wants to participate in this tourney, but then again, she has only ever seen her husband spar and never truly fight.

“Yes, I even heard tale that you led your army against a Dothraki khalasar, tell me is that true?”

At this, her eyes linger on Jaime, she can see the eagerness in them, of the remnants of the boy he used to be, even for a silver of a moment she can see it. His green eyes, sparkling at the tale of a warrior prince fighting against the horse people, where only the Unsullied are said to have stood against them.

“It was a good opportunity to prove myself, I never look a gift horse in the mouth,” Mehmed states as looks over at Oberyn who is just smiling, knowing that those two have more than a few things in common with one another.

 _That’s a bold face lie if I ever heard one._ All the gifts they had received from their wedding had been heavily inspected and cleansed after they had been presented to them during their wedding feast. The only exception being Lady Mara’s gift of the dragon eggs, which Elia had kept the yellow egg for herself near her fire at night.

Just as Jaime was about to ask another question, Lord Tywin and Lady Cersei arrived, while Lord Tywin looked smug, his daughter looked like she sucked on a lemon.

“Your Graces,” Lord Tywin spoke cordially, though his posture was anything but, as the Warden of the West stared at her husband, trying to get a measure for him.

_He is not as bendable as Rhaegar, Lord Tywin… you will not intimidate him like you do the others._

“Lord Tywin, I have heard much about you. Along with your daughter, Lady Cersei. Your beauty speaks truly.”

Elia can hear Oberyn softly chuckle and while it is true the Lady Cersei is beautiful; her machinations are not.

Taking the time, she eagerly reaches forward, “Lady Cersei, I had hope that you would show me where the wines are being kept, I am afraid I am a bit parched.”

If Lady Cersei wanted to deny Elia, she did not, for she led her away towards a table, which was near an enclave that was slightly out of view from the rest of the people in the room. Elia takes the moment and grabs Cersei towards the enclave with soft light can be seen glowing in the empty section.

Elia looks at Cersei, truly looks at her and she is saddened by what she sees, a girl who was just like her, having to learn to let go of her first love, no matter that Cersei’s was her twin brother, but a first love all the same.

“What do you think you’re doing, your **_Grace_**?” The last word is said with a sneer and while Elia would take offense she does not, knowing that the Golden Lioness is just acting out in anger, no matter that it is untoward, towards her.

“I am giving you the advice I had to give myself when I had to learn how to let go.”

Elia looks around, the enclave is a dead end, the only way out if the way they had come in from and she relaxes a bit, knowing she can be a little more free with her words in this privacy of darkness with only a small flame lighting up their conversation.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Cersei hisses at her, like a lion striking out blindly at prey, though Elia is quick enough to parry it with her next words.

“You and your brother. It is time you let go.”

Looking into her eyes, Elia can see the quick flashes of emotions, hurt, betrayal and then anger.

_We are alike in so many ways, truly._

“You speak false, Your Grace. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

_Ah yes deny, deny, deny. Deny like Rhaegar did when he told me he was just trying to ‘honor’ his Lyanna with that crown of roses, even when it came at the dishonor of mine._

“Sweet child, you do not need to lie to me, for I know the truth. Did you not think that while we were held in Aerys’ grip like a sword, we did not seek comfort in one another?”

Cersei seems to be enraged, as she harshly whispered, “You slept with him?!”

Elia just chuckles softly, “no girl, when I took my vows, I remained true to them even if others did not.”

She would always have that over Rhaegar, over Arthur. Arthur had been right there under her fingertips but she did not act upon it because she held true to her vows, not wanting to disgrace herself nor her marriage by being unfaithful to the words she spoke to the gods.

_Too bad, another did not share my sentiments._

“I consider Ser Jaime a dear friend, truly a lifeline that I needed in the darkness that is the Red Keep, even now he is a the brother of my heart, a confidant I confided into because if I did not, I feared I would have lost my mind in King’s Landing.”

At this, Lady Cersei relaxes at her words, though she still seems to be on edge, so Elia takes her hand and leads her gently toward the entrance of the enclave where they can see the nobles in the room, though they cannot see them.

“Look,” Elia uses her soft hands and guides Cersei’s head toward where Rhaegar and Lyanna are standing, Rhaegar seems to be posturing, as he talks to Lord Tyrell and Ser Baelor Hightower, while Lyanna is just standing there, silent for the women in the room do not wish to engage with her.

Both are wearing Targaryen colors, but it seems like a mummer’s show, in Elia’s eyes.

“Look at her, does she look happy to you? It is no secret that her elder brother hardly writes to her, nor that her younger brother exiled himself to the Wall for his hand in what happened at Harrenhal.”

“I know that.”

“Look at their crowns, do you know what I see when I look at their crowns?”

Rhaegar had worn the circlet that mirrored Aegon the Third, simple and gold but it had rubies like Aegon the Conqueror’s. While Lyanna’s had dragons and wolves interwoven, with a wolf and dragon both meeting each other in the middle, while the wolf was howling.

_Not a good image, considering the bards in Westeros are singing of a she-wolf in heat._

Cersei does not answer, but Elia continues on, “I see blood and bones. Innocents truly, limbs attached to one another as they sit on their heads. I see the blood pouring down their face that shrouds and pools at their feet.”

That is truly what came to Elia’s mind eye as she looked at them, her hatred curling low in her stomach as she stared duly at them.

“Do not be a fool into believing Rhaegar would have made you his queen. Consider yourself lucky that you were spared Aerys’ madness and Rhaegar’s stupidity. Would you have stepped over the bones of your brother and father for a crown? You are cold Cersei, calculative like your father – yes, but even you are not cold enough to use your family’s death to propagate yourself.”

“You do not know anything about me!”

“Oh, but I do, to know what it is like to be in love with someone you shouldn’t. To tell yourself that it could all work out, if you did something this way, with the right of amount of whispers and gold it could happen. Let me tell you, it won’t. You keep chasing after a setting sun and you’ll find that dusk is much better than total darkness of the night.”

_Can you not see nor heed the words I am telling you? Gods, I am trying to save another fool in love, just like I had been, just like Ashara too._

Elia watches as Cersei’s face crumples, her eyes wavering and Elia seizes the opportunity to show Cersei the light, to give her some reprieve from the heartache she herself had been dealing with just moons before she got her mind right.

“Now look over there,” her hands are soft, as she guides Cersei’s gaze toward Ser Addam Marbrand, with his shoulder length copper hair, and his soft bronze eyes. He is a charming fellow from what Elia can see and Ser Jaime has spoken enough about his childhood friend for Elia to paint a nice picture.

“You will not have Jaime; Lady Cersei and I think you know that. I think you know, but it is natural to rebel at what we understand but wish not to. Yet there before you, just a few strides away is a handsome young man, charming and gallant even, from what I have been told by your own brother. Someone who would not stray from your bed, give you fidelity and love you as you should be loved. Is that not what women wish for the most? Fidelity and love?”

_I had asked for fidelity from Mehmed and he had looked at me as though crazy, because fidelity was already promised in our vows, but now I know vows hardly mean anything when one does not believe in the words behind them._

Elia is hoping that her words are setting on Cersei, that the young girl can understand what she is trying to say because she truly does not wish for her dear friend to be so put out about his sister.

“You cannot have him, Cersei…not now and not ever again because to ask him to break his marital vows after he has broken so many vows as a knight in the Red Keep would destroy him.”

“Spare your brother this heartache if you truly love him as you say you do, he is your baby brother, do this one thing for him and I promise you, I promise it shall be better for you. Let go and let your heart fall to someone else, someone who can give you what you want. You think you want this now?”

Elia continues on harshly, “this is nothing! Having a love that you cannot share with others? It will kill you and him both. Do the right thing, for not just the love you have for your baby brother but also the love of yourself, knowing you deserve better and more.”

“Even lions must pause under the shade of a tree.”

Her last words are said in a soft whisper and she departs from the enclave after giving Cersei a squeeze on her hand, she hopes that her words have touched Cersei to make her see reason.

Some people have already begun to sit down in their seats and Elia feels herself growing wary as she sees Mehmed talking to some Northern, she looks at the flayed sigil and she almost stutters in her steps, as she nears them.

_I should have known he would not be on his best behavior. I leave for a few minutes and already-_

“Lord Bolton, it is a pleasure to see you here.”

Elia falls back easily into Mehmed’s side as though she has never left it, while Elia is politically astute, so is Mehmed and wonders why he is talking to this man, though she is not feigning coy, because she knows the history of the Bolton’s just as she knows the Uller’s.

“Your Grace,” his voice is silky soft, as his eyes are as pale as the sword Dawn, pale as stone but darker than even milk and she wonders if he can see well.

“Yes, Lord Bolton here was just telling me of the fine timber of the North. Considering the ships that shall soon be built for Dorne’s newest fleet, I figure why not get the timber sourced locally. Even Prince Doran agrees with this.”

_Gods help me._

All the nights when Elia would be in bed, while Mehmed, her brothers and their advisors would be settled in Doran’s solar are starting to make sense.

_Do they wish for another war, or is this just a way to poke at the Starks?_

“Is that right? Tell me Lord Bolton, I had thought that most trading routes are usually settled through with the lord paramount of a kingdom?”

It is not that she wants to discourage this proposition, but she wants to know and see with her own eyes if the rumors of the rumbling of Northern lords is true. Elia knows about the Red Kings and how the last king was forced to bend the knee to some Stark.

At this pose of a question, she sees Lord Bolton smile, an almost eerie thing but Elia believes that Mehmed’s smiles are more dangerous.

“Ah, yes your Grace but the keyword there is ‘most’, I believe ‘a peaceful land, a quiet people’ speaks truly to the lands I rule. I am happy to offer the timber of my lands, with the sands of Dorne, the production of glasshouses would be a nice trade.”

Elia cannot help the smile that forms, as her hands rub up Mehmed’s arms, she is pleased by this new development, her earlier wariness vanished for the time being.

The North has excess of timber, which Dorne needs for her new navy and Dorne has plenty of sand, especially by the sea to turn into glass.

“I wonderful proposition indeed my lord. I am sure my brother, Prince Oberyn will be happy to further discuss this with you, along with my husband.”

Elia looks around the room, carefully avoiding the people she does not wish to engage with as she sees Cersei standing next to Ser Addam, Jaime catches her eyes and he gives her a quick smile as he too sees his sister, before he turns towards her brother Oberyn who has lifted his head from conversation from little master Tyrion.

Oberyn sees who her and Mehmed are talking to, and he gives her a wink and a rogue smile.

_So, Doran must have already given his permission to Oberyn to pursue this while we were here. I wonder if there has been correspondence between Sunspear and the Dreadfort. While a raven’s journey is long between the distance, there has been enough time since her annulment for a letter to be dispatched and returned when Jaime’s marriage and tourney was announced._

Why else would Northerns travel again so soon from the north, especially when she has not seen the Starks here?

_Trouble in the North, your bannerman looking at you crookedly because they fought and died for your wayward sister. The Boltons are an odd people, Roose Bolton with his pale milk eyes as though he is a blind man. Yet, I do not doubt he does not see everything, just as her brothers and husband do._

Lord Tywin is circumventing the Tyrells with the Hightowers and now her brothers are circumventing the Starks by trading with the Boltons.

_The cycle continues._

Elia allows for Mehmed to stir the conversation back towards whatever they had been speaking about before, which surprisingly had been flaying.

“If this method works, I do not understand why it had been outlawed.” Mehmed hand once more strokes his beard, and Elia can only softly chuckle at his actions which causes him to look down at her with fondness and his lips twitch in mirth.

“Alas, I do not understand either Your Grace. When people know that there are consequences to their actions, they are much more likely to stick to the laws of the land.”

Elia holds in a snort, because while the Ullers have a bloody history with their torture methods, she considers the Boltons worse off. The eeriness in which the Dreadfort is spoken about is enough to tell Elia that she would never be comfortable in a place such as that, while she can sleep peacefully in Hellholt knowing that Rhaenys Targaryen, her own ancestor had screamed her last screams in that castle.

_Funny how that is._

Elia is glad that she does not have to sit through a conversation about the different methods of ‘extracting’ information from enemies when Lord Tywin beckons the hall to find their seats so that the food may be served.

They are seated to the right of the Lannisters, which would be well enough, yet directly across from them are the Targaryens and Elia has finally seen Rhaella, who is sitting next to Lord Lucerys.

Rhaella offers her a smile and she returns it, but she is looking anywhere but at the two people in front of her, when her eyes drift off, she catches the familiar gaze of purple-blue ones and she cannot help the way her eyes narrow.

While Rhaella looks renewed with energy, the same cannot be said for Ser Arthur Dayne or the new queen. Both look tired in the way Elia use to be tired, when too much is put upon your shoulders and you are trying your hardest to keep going, but find your steps wavering after every step forward.

_Do not feel pity, they are dead to you Elia. Where was there pity when you had been under Aerys’ shadow?_

At that thought, her pity disappears instead its that silent hatred and anger, like twin swords just like the ones Jade wields, and she wonders how this dinner shall go. Mehmed has already given her that tantalizing smile and her eyes drift over to the man next to her.

Oberyn is leaned back in his seat, one of his arms resting behind Jade, while Mehmed and herself are postured as ever, though she herself is slightly leaning closer to Mehmed for comfort. She knew she would be dining with her enemies, but she did not want to have to sit directly in front of them.

Elia likes to believe that this is half because Jaime enjoys not just her company but also her husband’s are some form of friendship has been struck, but also for Lord Tywin to show-off not just his status as Hand of the King, but having the royals seated right next to him.

_Mayhaps I should have gifted peacock feathers to Lord Tywin and not kept them for my own gowns._

Elia takes a deep breath, as she reaches for her cup of wine, she hides her small smile behind her cup, enjoying the taste of the spiced honey wine that is famous in Lannisport. It is not as sweet as Arbor Gold – _thank the Seven_ but it had a soft sweetness to it that reminds her of YiTish honeyed tea accented by berries that she enjoys in the mornings.

If anyone is surprised at the non-existent conversation happening between their party and the royals, they did wisely by keeping their mouths shut as Elia is drawn out of her wine-tasting when Ser Baelor who is seated not too far near the Tyrells, turns the conversation toward her.

“It is so nice, to the Sun of Dorne is out of Dorne. How have you been, Princess Elia?”

When her marriage had first been annulled, she lamented the loss of Ser Baelor as a would-be husband, but now with Mehmed by her side, she cannot lament on that loss much more as she gives Ser Baelor a genuine smile.

“I am well, Ser Baelor, thank you for asking. I figured I should stretch my legs some before heading to the east. What of you? Where is your wife, the Lady Rhonda?”

Elia had not seen the Rowan woman earlier, though she is surprised that Ser Baelor breaks out into a huge grin, “she is with child, Your Grace. She chose to remain home with my lady step-mother, Lady Rhea.”

At this news, Elia can only smile and lift her cup in a silent toast to the man who had almost had her hand, she knows that Ser Baelor and Lady Rhonda had married just a year after Elia and Oberyn left Hightower in 273 A.C. and knows that they struggled to conceive a child until now.

“I shall pray for her good health and the safe delivery of the babe, congratulations ser.”

The conversations flowed easily enough, with wine flowing along with it, courses being set upon the table.

Slow roasted pork had been glazed with honey and potatoes, as well as some mutton cooked over an open fire that was seasoned with saffron, salt and pepper.

Just as Elia was about to take her first bite of food, she heard the voice of her brother speaking, beckoning her attention away from her meal as she looked up, her cutlery still in hand.

“Queen Rhaella, I must say you look stunning; I am glad to know that Dragonstone is treating you so well, the capital can be so stifling for some.”

His words were kind enough, but Elia could hear the enunciation on the ‘stifling’ part, and she plucked a piece of potato into her mouth. Oberyn is staring at Lyanna who does indeed look paler than she ever did at Harrenhal.

_So, it is already beginning._

Elia had hoped that between Mehmed and Oberyn, they would not titter about with Rhaella for she truly did her no wrong, she knows Mehmed had sense, but if there is one thing she learned about having Oberyn as a brother, if you tell him to do one thing – he is quite likely to do the opposite.

Posted 05/28/2020

Edited: 05/28/2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moved my recommendation list of fics, to the "Southern Renaissance" collection that's attached to the end note on the first chapter. A place where Dorne/House Martell/Elia centric stories are kept in one place.


	18. Such Eloquent Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An eagle scouts the sky, a viper slithers in the grass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, be safe out there okay?

Elia sliced through a piece of pear glazed chicken, enjoying the taste as she sat silently as she watched her brother and husband. By the end of the night, Elia was sure she would become crossed eyed by how she kept trying to keep both eyes on the men in her life. It was a difficult task, but she worried far more about Oberyn who seemed to be enjoying the little after effect of what he said.

It was not a lie, Rhaella looked wonderful as Elia is sure that not being locked up by a husband could do wonders for a woman. From before where Rhaella’s hair had been dull, just as Elia’s had become dull when she herself was a hostage, it now shines like spun silver silk.

“Indeed, Dragonstone has lifted my spirits,” Rhaella seemed unsure on how to respond to Oberyn, so she picked at her plate, taking a bit of mutton on her fork.

Elia could see it for what it was, a foot in the doorway, as Oberyn turned his full gaze unto the pale girl in front of them. His smile a little mocking from what she could see, as she chewed on her food in wait.

“Has winter reached King’s Landing? Though there has been a slight chill in Dorne, it is just as any other day for us. Tell me, has there been any snow to be seen in the capital? Though I do fear that the sands from Dorne may have also blown towards north, during the latest sandstorm.”

Oberyn did not even deign to give a “Your Grace”, but then again Oberyn would never give more than what he was offered. It was just not his way, he loved fiercely, and he hated the same way.

Elia had accidently bit her fork when she scraped the chicken off, as she chewed furiously, but allowed her face to remain relaxed – not willing to allow her mask to falter.

Nobles and common folk alike still spoke of the legitimacy of the new Crown Prince, Elia knew that the girl in front of her had to be feeling pressure to produce another son, a son who did not have such a stain on his person from his parents. Whose legitimacy could not be questioned, but Elia was of the belief that any children produced would always be questioned, because of the way of their elopement and marriage went.

A marriage taken by a Crown Prince without leave from the king or queen, would always be speculated on. In Elia’s opinion every child these two chits produced, would be of questionable origin and Elia was not the only one to think so. Oberyn and Doran had discussed this many times, which is why they had been accelerating the building of the aqueducts and the expansion of the ports.

Elia knows that if her brothers have thought this, then Lord Tywin and Ser Jaime must have also, along with the Hightowers and the Boltons. Why else would Lord Tywin seeks the Hightowers out, who hold so true to the Faith. Why her brothers would make moves with Lord Bolton, who was as quiet as a ghost with eyes just as pale.

Dorne would not be caught unaware again and should the Six Kingdoms go to war, either from their doubt of the legitimacy of the Targaryens or mayhaps they would just be sick of the Targaryens in general, just as Dorne was.

It was a powder keg, and Rhaegar and Lyanna did no favors in how they went about their hideous romance with the realm as an audience. Least Elia had miscarried an heir that looked Valyrian. Lyanna now had to produced one and make sure it survived the cradle, along with two daughters, because after everything Rhaegar did to get his Lady Lyanna, Elia did not doubt he still wanted her to be the birthing machine of his prophetic dynasty.

_Better her than I, that’s for sure._

“No, there has been no snow nor sand in the capital,” Lyanna had snapped at Oberyn.

_Seems she has found some will, after all._

“Oh? Mayhaps you should just look down the hall towards the nur-”, Oberyn had been cut off by Mehmed and Elia felt herself relax slightly, as Oberyn looked smug as he ate a glazed pear.

“I have heard tales of your capital, of the Red Keep; how it was constructed by the dragon lords of Old Valyria. I am not so familiar with Valyrian designs, the dragons of Valyria did not err by going further east passed the Bone Mountains.” 

Another potato found its way into her mouth as she chewed, not even bothering trying to savor the taste, but more so trying to stop the headache that was surely coming on. A sip of calming draught would be wonderous now if she could get one of the guards to fetch her some.

Elia feared what would happen if she were not at the table, so she remained, slightly amused and slightly on edge as coded words flowed throughout the dinner table.

Elia could see Oberyn lean back into his seat, his free hand playing with Jade’s curls who had oddly remained silent. Elia had not taken Jade into account, just thinking it would be Oberyn and Mehmed she had to toil about but now she was not so sure, as she leaned slightly forward and eyed Jade.

Jade must have felt Elia’s eyes on her, but she smiled benignly at her, but Elia was not fooled. That smile that she has seen on Mehmed, even Lady Mara at their weddings caused Elia to stir in her seat, as she sliced through more chicken, eyeing the rest of the people at the table.

Lord Tywin ate chicken like herself, it was not unknown that he hated mutton, while Lady Cersei seemed to be enjoying it herself, her eyes sparkling as Elia had no doubt that while Cersei may have disliked her for marrying Rhaegar, Elia had been brought by Aerys’ command. Lyanna had not, for while Lyanna had usurped Elia, it may have been worse because she also usurped Cersei, or so that is what Elia believed.

It was a dangerous thing to have the lions hating you, for the Targaryens and herself came very close with being at the Lannisters’ mercy when Lord Tywin led his men on the Trident.

_Least I have Jaime in my corner, and Cersei has heeded my words, so it appears._

Her mother always taught her that it was foolish to make unknown enemies, and while Lady Cersei shall be in the west, it is not hard to cause trouble no matter the distance if you truly hated someone.

_Just look at us in Dorne. Even now we shall poke at the North with Lord Bolton._

Rhaella did not seem perturbed by the barbs that were being exchanged, nor did she even look inclined to rebuke them, as she spoke to Lord Lucerys next to her. They were both widowed, with Lord Lucerys' heir being grown and Elia was curious as to how that friendship worked when Lord Lucerys did not have a high opinion of Rhaegar though he had been kind to Elia when she met him.

Ser Baelor was speaking to his good brother, Lord Mace who had done a good job at ignoring the Dornish sitting not too far from him. Elia paid no mind to the people sitting farther from them, although she did catch Lord Bolton bowing his head towards her in respect, with a smile playing at his lips – clearly amused by Oberyn.

_There is no love lost between the Boltons and Starks. That is good to know._

“Now, now brother. You know mother always said there are so many secrets in the far east. We are most often best left to our own machinations,” Jade had leaned forward, smiling easily at Mehmed but Elia caught the tug at her husband’s lips, as he chuckled lowly.

“Yes, mother has never been wrong. Wise as she always is.”

It would not be the first time that Elia laments the loss of her mother, for she knows her mother would have enjoyed Lady Mara with all her wits and sarcastic tongue. Though mayhaps it is a blessing that the two of them never met, because from Mehmed and Oberyn she could see how much trouble those two women would cause if they had been friends.

“Being in Essos, does your empire not follow the practice of slavery? A very uncouth practice that is outlawed here in Westeros.”

Now Elia wanted to throw her head back and laugh at Rhaegar’s audacity, as if the Targaryens or even Valyrians had any room to speak of slavery. Her husband relaxed and gave a demur tug at the lips.

“Hubris comes before the fall, or so is the Moraqi saying.” Mehmed had taken a sip of wine, while Elia watched in silence, as he continued.

“If I remember correctly, it had been the Old Empire of Ghis who practiced slavery and then the Valyrian Freehold that upheld those same practices once they toppled Ghis. Some say it was the curse by Prince of Chroyane, Garin the Great when he called upon Mother Rhoyne to his enemies. Others say it was a Faceless Man, a slave working in the Fourteen Flames that brought upon the Doom. Matters not, now does it?”

Elia drunk from her cup; her silent laugh slushed against the wine as she licked her lips for any left-over trace of the honeyed drink.

“Mhmm… that is correct once again brother. Our ancestors learned from such folly, if you free a slave and put a sword in his hand and point to the enemy, whisper to them that such man is willing to take their freedom once again after a slave has had a taste of it, well they shall defend their empire as any general, pasha or sultan might.” Jade spoke glibly leaning towards Oberyn, not afraid to be affectionate in public.

“How easy it is, all it takes is one man to rise up and say ‘no’, for the rest to follow. Those simple words have brought upon the end of dynasties and empires alike as we know it,” Mehmed spoke and Elia did not know who he was speaking of, herself when she faced Aerys, or the rebels when Aerys called for Robert Baratheon’s and Ned Stark’s head or even the slaves of the Valyrian Freehold.

Not that it mattered like Mehmed said earlier, those actions had already passed. After Mehmed’s remark, Elia went back to her meal as she discreetly watched the people at the table. Lord Tywin has not spoken much outside of the talking he did before the feast began. But Elia knows enough about Lord Tywin, to know the man watches before acting just as Doran does. He seemed pleased enough, but she saw how he paid attention to Mehmed and his words.

“I have heard, your lady mother has gifted you dragon eggs at your weddings,” Rhaegar spoke and all Elia wanted to do was roll her eyes. As she sits with her new husband, she silently ponders what she saw in Rhaegar from the beginning. He is handsome yes, but knowing his true self, that ugliness mars his outward beauty.

Where before she may have welcomed his words, now all she wishes is to force them back down his throat and leave her in peace.

_Oh, course he would be interested in the eggs. I wonder who told him, Jaime or Connington? Though Jaime looks nonplused to be seated with his king. Connington it is then._

“You heard of that, have you? Yes, my mother figured why not, for both Elia, Oberyn and Doran are descendants of Aegon the Conqueror and Princess Nymeria. Be a shame, to not honor their bloodline nor ancestry.” Mehmed’s accent drawled out his words, as his fingers rested on his knife, while his other hand kept his fork poised in hand.

Elia had put away her chicken and began nibbling on some softened glazed pears and nuts. She took a sip of her wine, once more hiding away her smile and a soft chuckle as the wine splashed against her lips. 

As she chewed on her pears, enjoying the sweet taste she cannot help but think of Jade’s words when Lady Mara first arrived in Dorne; of how the viper waits in the grass, but the eagle sits on the birch.

In a way it feels like two predators circling, one on the ground and the other in the sky, waiting and hovering as one strikes for the eyes while the other hisses and strikes out at the neck. It’s a dangerous dance that her companions are playing, but Elia can only watch on in intrigue, curious to how this evening will play out.

It is nice, having people defend her. Where once she had to sit at a table with Aerys, her eyes fully on her plate, lest Aerys’ meet her eyes with a sneer and began trying to tear her down now however, her head remains high. Elia does not need to say anything, because while she could, it feels wonderful to give that right to her husband and brother. To let them speak for her because Elia does not have any words to give, especially not to her enemies.

Some words of hate will surely come to her eventually, but so far she is quite pleased to simply sip her wine and eat her food, keep an eye on her companions but giving them enough space to roam around and cause havoc – just a little bit of it, of course.

“Where did she get them from?” Rhaegar’s question did not sound so much like a question but more of a demand and while Elia did not see her husband stiffen, out of the corner of her eyes, she could quite literally feel their guards do so.

She inhaled a deep breath, dropping one of her hands and allowing it to settle on Mehmed’s thigh, as she exhaled.

It must be an odd thing, to have some other sovereign demand something of you, even if Rhaegar’s question came across harsh, he should be most careful, _then again when has he ever had the mind for politics? The one time he did, it blew up horribly not just in his face but also mine._

Her hand was gentle on his thigh, lightly stroking it and offering a pat but she kept it there, wanting to anchor her husband before he turned her dear friend’s feast into a blood bath, albeit Oberyn would be happy to see blood spilled next to the wine, of that she was sure.

Elia knows that Mehmed is sensitive about his mother, as both he and Jade are. They love Lady Mara, just as Elia is becoming, for how she dotes upon Deria and her gaggle of nieces. Happy to spend her mornings in their company as she teaches them Moraqi songs and dances, even Lady Mara had coaxed a stoic Obara into a dance.

It must be daunting not just for the Han siblings but also their guards, because unlike the Kingsguard who did nothing at the insult of their queen at Aerys’ hand, the same could not be said about the Shadow Guard. The very ring on Lady Mara’s right hand signified her own contingent of guards, her own political mind that boosted Mehmed to the throne above all his cousins. Just remembering the deference, the Moraqi court paid to her when she first arrived was enough to let Elia know how much they respected her.

The headache she feels is slowly consuming her and she wishes for this dinner to be over. She has eaten her fill, and while the air had been thick before, now if Elia picked up her knife, she could surely cut the tension in the air.

While tension was always going to be in the air between them, Oberyn, Mehmed and Jade had been poking at the king and queen across from them, from the moment they sat down.

_Mayhaps this was always going to happen, regardless if Oberyn poked the dragon first._

“My mother is a lady of many secrets, with many friends in many places. Who is a son to question his mother, on her own personal matters? To be filial to your mother and father is a teaching most practiced and preached by our priests.”

It was Jade who chuckled first, laughing softly, before it echoed in the hall. Elia saw that she looked infinitely pleased and then Elia laughed too, covering her mouth with her napkin, as Oberyn laughed too.

Considering the fact that Elia knows Mehmed would have killed his own father should he have found his father lacking as not just a sultan but also a husband, the idea that the Moraqi preach children to be filial is nothing short of comical. While on one hand, the purpose of teaching filial piety is to ensure that children do not fight amongst themselves for power, it is also a lesson that while you may love your family, being rid of one bad apple prevents the others from rotting.

It is an odd lesson that Elia stills finds funny because while it makes perfect sense in a macabre way, it still tickles her. It is not that kinslaying is so blatant in Great Moraq, it is just that for the peace and stabilization to continue, loving your family enough you take upon that sin for others. It is a slippery slope that the Hans play upon, but they must have figured it out to still hold the imperial throne for as long as they have.

_The Seven teach that no one is more accursed than a kinslayer, but what of those who break their vows?_

Looking at Lyanna in front of her, with her howling wolf crown meeting the dragon, the way even Rhaegar looks tired though that could just be from his latent madness, she wonders of the vows spoken in front of the Seven, between the Father and Mother.

_“Let it be known that Rhaegar of House Targaryen and Elia of House Nymeros Martell are one heart, one flesh and one soul. Cursed be the one who seeks to tear them asunder.”_

Those had been the words that the High Septon spoke when she wedded Rhaegar and she often wonders, what is the curse that befalls a man who tears apart his own marriage? She cannot help but think of Aerys who had taken plenty of mistresses, mistresses he would later kill when he suspected them of poisoning the stillborn children, that Rhaella had birthed.

Even Oberyn, who had been deterred from marriage because he himself knew that those vows were hard to stick to, especially when it had not been in his character to do so before. But Oberyn knows the power of words, the Gargalen in them know this to be true. ‘Honor to the Rhoyne’, while the Red Princes tried to stifle the Rhoynar culture, to force them to assimilate, House Gargalen had married many Orphans given the proximity of Salt Shore and the Greenblood. They could not be silenced no matter and only generations later did the Orphans freely practice once again in Dorne when her own Martell ancestors had decreed it so.

House Gargalen’s words are credited to how endless the Rhoyne is, just like honor should be. Her brother Doran is a testament to those very words, he truly embodies both houses of their family. How honor bound he is, how he completes his duties with hardly a word of disdain for it.

Elia wonders if Rhaegar and Lyanna are cursed, she does not know so much about the old gods, but never has someone of the north done what Lyanna Stark has done, so there is a first for everything. Mayhaps the gods, old and new are finding the new king and queen of these Six Kingdoms wanting, just as Dorne did.

Ser Jaime is not smiling but his eyes do glow with warmth and she is happy to know that her husband and brother’s antics have not ruined his feast, nor distressed him so. While Lady Cersei seems just as smug as her father now, possibly happy that the prince who spurned her and the wolf girl who ‘usurped’ her have been tsked and tutted at through the night.

Other people have completed their meal also and Elia took this time to squeeze Mehmed’s thighs, hoping to get him to leave the table with her. She is growing tired from their travel and this evening meal and she wishes to hear Mehmed and Jade play on their zithers and not with other people to make them so nervous.

“Lord Tywin, you have my compliments on the food. I shall retire for the evening, it has been such a long journey, after all. Ser Jaime,” Mehmed nodded towards her friend, before he rose from his seat, his hand out to help her from hers as Elia excused herself also.

While Mehmed tucked her into his side, Elia almost looked back to beckon her little brother to follow, because while she may be growing tired and fatigue, she had not forgotten her wits to not drag Oberyn back with her.

Luckily, she did not need to as Oberyn and Jade made their excuses, with Oberyn wishing Rhaella a good evening, adding on the word ‘cousin’ towards her and all Elia could do was inwardly groan.

As they left the hall, it was silent, but she spoke up, “I should hope that my reward tonight, is hearing you and Jade play. I am need of a calming draught also.”

Elia wondered if it was going to be like this for the rest of the week, traded barbs that are disguised by coy looks and devious smiles, because while she did not mind, she would just have to be sure to have a soothing tonic in the mornings and evenings.

“Of course, my dear. How hard you worked to tame us all, if you find you do not like being a sultana mayhaps I shall bring in some exotic animals from Asshai for you to tame?”

Their mixed laughter ranged out in the air, as she lightly slapped Mehmed’s arm, shaking her head fondly.

“I see now, that if I get any grey hairs, they shall come from you and not from children. I wonder how Lady Mara has put up with you.”

Her husband could be as sly as a fox, and she can see it in her mind’s eye the drama Mehmed must have raised as a child, with Lady Mara chasing after him to settle him down. If it was anything like how her own mother use to wrangle Oberyn then she knows that any grey hairs Lady Mara does have, have come from her son – just as her own’s mother’s greys had appeared when Oberyn was so unruly.

“It is a good thing, I married you for your patience and you married me for my hair then, isn’t it?”

This time she pinched his arm with her free hand, chuckling while doing so and knowing that she barely even pinched his skin through his kaftan.

“You see how your sister wounds me so Oberyn? Never has a husband been so disabused by his wife, I fear if I do not play for her tonight, I shall be sleeping on the cold hard floor.”

“You are a victim, aren’t you? Poor you.” Elia tsked with her tongue clucking at the roof of her mouth, as they neared their apartments.

When the four of them entered the seating area, Mehmed had sent a servant to get some calming draught for Elia and she immediately laid on a chaise, her feet naked from her sandals as they were tucked under her.

Oberyn sat down next to her, his arm over her shoulder as she leaned into him, nestled against his warmth as she heard Jade and Mehmed talking amongst themselves, while servants entered the room and threw colored pillows onto the floor.

It was a familiar set up that the Moraqi had just like the Dornish, with pillows on the floor to sew on or just lay upon as secrets and conversations were traded. It was an Essosi fashion to do so, and Elia and Oberyn moved towards the pillows, as a servant lit the fire in the hearth.

Once Mehmed and Jade have played, the tub that has been brought and set forth in front of the hearth in their bedroom shall be used before Elia goes to sleep.

“Come brother, let us see whose wit is sharper.”

Elia watches at Jade sits down, with golden nails attached to her fingers, the same nails she also sees on Mehmed’s hands.

Both brother and sister sit opposite from one another, and even their ladies have gathered in the rooms, sitting not too far away from them, in their own circle, leaving Elia alone to rest against her brother as they watch their spouses.

“Who shall go first, Jade?”

“Why me of course.”

Just like that, Jade is off with a soft melody, her golden nails flickering over her zither like a flame over wood. Jade plays that melody for a bit, before she stops and looks up towards her brother, and Elia can see the taunt for what it is.

Elia can hear her husband sigh as he replays the same melody, his fingers just as graceful and nimble as his little sister’s.

Each melody that they play, slowly begins to increase, like a wave in a storm, gathering strength before it hits a ship to wreck it on a barren shore.

Jade plays fiercely, at times even bowing her head as it tilts towards her zither, as though she is truly ingesting the chords that she is playing. The melodies turn harsh, but still beautiful like a pottery that has been busted many times to ensure it does not bust so easily the next.

However, Mehmed is just the same, they are both competitive, firing away strings in melodies that no longer sound so peaceful but more like war music, the only thing missing is drums to go along with this game that they play.

Elia wonders who will mess up first, but then again, this perfect callback is something that was quite literally beaten into Mehmed. His old pasha had not been kind nor merciful when teaching Mehmed, and Elia has heard enough about Asshai to know that it is not merciful at all to children, though Jade thrived in the Shadowlands.

Looking at the two siblings, she can easily see their similarities, outside of their eyes and tanned skin that looks so peachy in the sun. The way they both tilt their heads, at times their eyes even closed as they do not look down anymore, instead focusing on one another. Mehmed seems to be smiling, as is Jade and eventually the music fades out.

They had not messed up, not once and Elia finds her eyelids drooping a bit as she tries to stay awake. They had played their music for a while, and her calming draught had been brought, which ebbed away her headache.

Now, Elia is ready to retire for the night, to crawl into bed and not think of tomorrow where more shenanigans are surely to follow.

* * *

Her night gown is a bit heavier than the usual silks she wears to bed, but the added warmth is not something she will complain about.

Elia felt light on her feet as she pulled back the duvet on the bed, sliding in as she nestled herself deep into the mattress, stretching slightly under the woolen duvet. She felt so warm and when Mehmed joined her just minutes later, she shifted next to him with her head laying on his chest and her legs between his.

The calming draught had done its job and she staved off going to bed to ask one question to her husband, “why are you entering the tournament? I did not think you would join.”

Her husband’s hands glide up and down her back and she stretches languidly like a cat in the sun, just as Balerion use to do whenever Deria petted him.

“Mhmm… it seems fitting to gift you a crown of flowers no? I shall crown you again in Moraq, with another crown, in the Moraqi fashion. You were denied your crown, not just once but twice.”

His voice is luring her deeper into the darkness of her dreamless sleep, where no hateful eyes follow her down corridors, nor of the phantom cries of her daughter.

She softly hums to herself, “you are very competitive, even over some flowers?”

Her words sound slurred even to her ears, as she drifts in and out of sleep, Mehmed’s fingers continue ghosting over her gown, down her spine and she can feel the way her body arches at his touch.

“Why should I not? I am a man who has always fought for the things I’ve wanted. Anything gained easily is not something worth having.”

Her shoulders shrugged at that, not even bothering to contest his words as she presses herself against him and leans up on him, one of her arms keeping steady on his muscled stomach.

“Just do not get hurt tomorrow. Considering we are only here for a week; this tourney shall pass quickly.”

Mehmed had been gracious enough to stay in Westeros for Ser Jaime’s wedding, they did not need to be bogged down with an injury nor remain further, for Elia knew he was eager to return to Moraq now.

Elia leans forward and presses a kiss to his lips, which are just as gentle against hers as hers are against his. She can feel the hand that was on her spine, dip lower and grab the flesh of her arse and she raises an eyebrow, “are you not tired?” She asked against his lips, chuckling softly when all she got back was a blunt, “no.”

Her curls are sprawled all around them, some on her pillow and the rest as a curtain between them before he tucked a few strands behind her ear.

“I shall name you my Queen of Love and Beauty, in front of the realm that watched you be jilted of it once before.”

Elia is so tired that the only thing she can do is nod her head, and lean back down to rest her head on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart, how soothing it was and the comfort it brought her. She understands why Deria loves to rest her head on Elia’s heart, how beautiful the sound of a beating heart is.

“So bold that you are. Will it be for true?”

As their marriage went on, she did not know what she felt for Mehmed, because it felt so different from the familial love she has for her family, the love she has for Dorne and the love she thought she knew with Arthur and Rhaegar. What she has for Mehmed, she cannot put a name to it, as it exceeds fondness and desire.

“It will be if you believe it so.”

A soft hum escaped her lips at that, as her left hand laid against his shoulder, as she listened to their even breaths along with her ear pressed against his chest and heart. No longer having the will to fight the draught, she relaxed herself, once more enjoying the fingers that ghosted along her spine in a soothing pattern.

She felt like she mumbled something else before her eyed fully closed for that night, eager to begin tomorrow better rested and her mind more sharpened.

Posted: 06/03/2020

Edited: 06/03/2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been getting so many plot bunnies and I literally need to stop lmao. *wacks self with newspaper* no! bad girl! no!


	19. Interlude: Jaime II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A seahorse, a dragon and two lions gather. Plans are made and a young lion ponders the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ao3 is a literal life line for me. Hope everyone is well. Really aiming now for two chapters a week. Also to all you readers out there who are shy about posting, just post it! Especially if its a story or fandom you care about. Post that shit, yo!

The last time Casterly Rock has been this busy, it was the tourney his father held for Prince Viserys all those years ago.

Jaime could only guess why his father wanted to hold a tourney, show off that the Lannisters do indeed shit gold, but really his father had been all too much pleased at not just his heir getting married but Cersei’s betrothal too.

Jaime does not know what Elia told Cersei, but his sister had given him a hard-gazing piercing look, one that held deep consideration before she attached herself to Addam the night before.

_At least she’s trying. I can give her that._

Whatever words had been spoken between the women he held close to his heart, it held some effect as Jaime no longer had the feeling of someone lurking in the shadows when he walked the halls, ready to grab him into an empty room as Cersei had been oft to do these days prior.

Jaime does not doubt it will take time for Cersei to forgive the ‘betrayal’ he has dealt her, for his elder sister can be merciless to her enemies, hatred like a spice scented on her tongue but he knows that she loves him in her own way. It is the only reason he can see why she has begun to put forth effort with her own betrothal, even opting to break her fast with Addam instead of with the family, with Lord Lucerys and Queen Dowager Rhaella joining himself and father.

Tyrion has decided to spend time with Prince Viserys who Queen Rhaella has kept away from the Dornish party. Though he suspects this is because Prince Viserys had always been fond of Elia, and the little prince asking of his former good sister and niece will undoubtedly stir rumors and trouble once more.

Jaime had not been surprised when she arrived with both children, considering she had been locked away by Aerys, with nothing but septas near her, she is glad to be free.

Though Jaime also suspects that their father wants to speak privately to his old friends, with Jaime in attendance. When Jaime arrived, he was not surprised that his uncles and aunt were missing, most often his father did not take their council until after he had time to think through the news he was given.

Jaime sat to his father’s right, his father giving him a nod as Jaime greeted the guests in front of him.

“Lord Lucerys, Queen Rhaella,” he stated before wiping his hands with a hot towel and plucking fruit from the bowl in front of him.

“I had not thought to be here, but it brightens me to know that Joanna’s golden boy is finally getting married. I am glad you have left that white cloak behind.”

Jaime swallows the berry he had chewed on, his heart wrenching silently at the thought of his lady mother. He can scarcely remember her from his own memory which saddens him, but when he thinks hard enough in his mind, he can make out the outline of her face. He can see Cersei’s face in the image of his mother, he attributes Elia’s warmth and gentleness to the memories of where his mother held him as a child.

Even now when Denyse smiles, he puts that smile onto his mother, his mother has become a combination of the women in his life; if it was not for the portraits of Joanna Lannister that his father kept hanging, he would be a poor son indeed.

Jaime drinks a sip of his wine, as he sees the queen sigh before leaning back in her chair. Though she looks positively more radiant and lovely, the worry he has always seen on her face is still there behind her soft eyes. No longer does it hold fear, not the kind of fear he saw after Aerys burned a man, and the queen would take glances at the Kingsguard before she left to her chambers and waited on Aerys’ brutality.

No, something else lingered in her eyes and he tried to think quickly of what it could be and what it would mean for his family.

_Father always said the Game continues; I see that now. There is no reprieve, just barely a moment to take a breath before submerging yourself back into the schemes and trickery._

On one hand he would love to turn his head and close his eyes and ignore the issues of the realm, but Jaime has shirked his duty long enough – no, he wants to become a man his mother would be proud of. Someone that can protect Tyrion even from their father and sister, to protect the Rock and take up the mantle ‘Shield of Lannisport’ just as his father has.

To turn a blind eye now, would be an error and it is already too late, as the queen’s next words prove it to be true.

“I am seeking betrothals from not just House Velaryon but also House Lannister.”

Jaime takes a shallow breath and turns slightly to face his father, as his own mind is working out the queen’s words, Jaime can see the machinations in his father’s eye, can see the wheel spinning before his father reaches out and takes a bite of bread covered in jam.

“Truth be told, I fear what these coming years will do to this realm. The Iron Islands are quiet, too quiet even for my liking, Dorne is in the sands, after being scorned so by not just these kingdoms but my foolish brother and now son.”

It was no secret that no one expected Queen Rhaella to mourn her demented brother, but Jaime was almost glad to see that she did not even attempt to fake it.

_No one should mourn that brute of a man. Rabid dogs should always be put to mercy, though the gods saw fit to finally cast down Aerys a bit too late, but they did it all the same._

Lord Lucerys pats the queen’s hand and it does not go unnoticed by neither his father nor himself. Jaime knows that Lord Lucerys mourned his lady wife when she passed after giving birth to his second son, Baelon just three years prior. It had been a trying birth, just like his own mother’s and Lady Alyse had perished in the birthing bed just the same as his own.

In a way it makes sense, as both Lucerys and Rhaella knew Aerys before he was mad, just as his father had. Two people seeking out comfort in one another just as he had done with Elia, to keep his own mind intact after a day of dealing with Aerys.

“Yes, it has been awhile since a Targaryen princess has been married into my house. Given the way she came into this world, I imagine that she would do well on the water just as all Velaryons are. Which is why I did not give her to my heir for his own son should he be born. No, Baelon is three years old, not such a huge age gap for when my son weds the princess.” Lord Lucerys drinks to clear his throat before continuing, “I have been looking at one of the empty holdfasts, by the time they are wed, it should be completed from reconstruction.”

Queen Rhaella was in agreeance as she nodded her head, before drinking a sip of wine and steadying her gaze first onto him and then onto his father.

“It was always my wish, for my children to marry into my closest friends’ houses. First with Loreza, though we see how that worked out and now I have a son and daughter left to spare. My baby boy, who has tried so hard to make sense out of everything that has happened. I wish to give him to the first daughter, Ser Jaime and Lady Denyse have.”

Jaime takes in this news, a daughter, who hasn’t been born yet and already she has been sold. Guilt wrenches at his heart and he speaks before his father does.

_It will be my daughter and I shall see to it that the man Prince Viserys becomes is not unworthy like Aerys nor even the precious Silver Prince who had us all fooled._

“I expect for Prince Viserys to be fostered here at the Rock within two years’ time. I’ll not have some prince wed my daughter and thinking he can lord over her. No, if he is to be my good-son I shall shape him to my liking. If I get so much of a whiff of the possibility of madness resting in that child, I will beat it out of him.”

His words are cruel and blunt, but his father does not reprimand him nor does Lord Lucerys or even the queen look shocked.

They have all had to deal with a Targaryen who took liberties he should not have, first with Aerys and now with Rhaegar. There is some hope with Prince Viserys, and any man wedding his future daughter, he will shape them into an image he can tolerate.

Prince Viserys is still young, still pliable and Jaime means it when he says that if one tendril of madness is found, he will beat it out of the child. He will have that prince in the training yard all day and night taking pommels from swords until he has learned to tame the dragon and fire that dwells within him. Jaime will find maesters or even sic Tyrion on the child to learn what it means to rule and be smart, not like his wretched father or idiot elder brother.

Seven hells if he must, he shall send the boy back to the capital with his own father to mould the boy, though something tells Jaime that, that will be his last option if he himself cannot see to it.

Jaime will not have some mad dragon in the West, he’ll not have some prince raping his daughter nor will he allow the Lannisters to fall so gravely that he cannot protect his own daughter from the choice of himself and his father to see her wed.

His sister Cersei had often traded places with him in the sword yard to learn how handle a sword, while he went to her embroidery lessons.

He wonders if Rhaella would have been under Aerys cruel hand had more people defended her to marry someone else like Princess Loreza and even Rhaelle Baratheon did when she was younger, as he knows this from Elia’s own account of the queen. Had Rhaella been able to kill her husband and not just put herself out of misery but everyone else, would the realm had been better for it?

_Of course, it would have, I would have rather served a queen regnant then a mad king._

If his daughter wishes to pick up a sword, Jaime will not deny her that, no not after having traveled to Dorne and seeing for himself the fierce women who inhabit the sandy kingdom. Jaime will not be the kind of father like Jaehaerys Targaryen the Second, that will be the kind of man that shies away from a daughter’s nor even a woman’s cry.

_I’ve done that already to a queen and princess, I do not wish to have to do so for a daughter._

He could distinctly remember his mother saying that there was only one Tywin Lannister, and that the gods saw fit to divide up his talents between his two children. He has learned from his father’s handling of Cersei of how he wishes to be with his own daughters – not so cold, but he shall see to it that his daughter has the intellect of Tyrion, the strength of himself and the shrewdness of his sister.

“My son speaks true. Prince Viserys is eight years old now, when he turns ten, he shall be brought here to foster and learn. My granddaughter will not wed until she is six and ten.”

Jaime has heard enough about Summerhall to know how traumatic the birth of Rhaegar had been on the three and ten princess Rhaella. He does not wish his daughter to be in the birthing bed at such a young age and given all the stillbirths the queen has suffered from; he does not wish to see his daughter in anguish from it.

In a way it is funny how they speak of a daughter, who has not even been conceived yet, but there has always been a daughter in a generation of Lannisters. At times more than one, but at least one all the same. It is a tangible thing and Jaime knows that if he doesn’t produce a daughter then Cersei will or even Tyrion. Regardless, the prince shall belong to the Lannisters in two years’ time.

_Daughter or niece it does not matter, no more Targaryens shall lust after a Lannister bride. Not like how Aerys did my own mother._

“Same age as my Daenerys when she weds Baelon.” The queen nods her head at her own words, no doubt recalling her own traumatic birth of Rhaegar as such a young age. Of course, she would want to spare her daughter that fate.

The queen chews on some fruit and bread before continuing with her words, “where will you place Viserys? I can only assume it will be a cadet branch of House Targaryen now seated in the West.”

Jaime had gone back to eating his food, smearing on strawberry jam onto his bread, enjoying the sweet taste of it.

“Tyrion…is a smart boy. Even at one and ten his mind is quick, he has shown prowess for numbers and even plumbing. Castamere and even Tarbeck Hall sit empty. Castamere shall go to Prince Viserys and Tarbeck Hall to Tyrion. As soon as the water and bodies have been drained, of course. Lannister gold shall fund this endeavor.”

It is rare for his father to praise his youngest brother, less than to even acknowledge him but if his father was taught anything of this war, is that House Lannister cannot afford to be dwindled in numbers, not like how House Targaryen is. No, every Lannister shall be of use, his father is nothing but pragmatic.

His father lips tug into the corner and Jaime knows he is remembering the rumor of how his father smiled when Lady Ellyn died when Tarbeck Hall collapsed. It seems even now, thinking of his former enemies dead brings him a smile. When Jaime had spoken to Sultan Mehmed, he too had a tug at the lips, when he retold Jaime of the killing of some pasha right before he took the throne.

_What it must be like to have your enemies cowed at your feet. Men like the sultan and my father are cut from the same cloth._

“You are willing to fund the rebuilding of Castamere…alone?” Lord Lucerys seemed shocked but this is not the first time that his father has expressed want of draining Castamere. For the Reynes had been the second richest house in the West, outside of House Lannister – of course.

All the gold that shall be spent on rebuilding both castles will be well worth it, the silver and gold that remains in Castamere’s mines will see to that alone. Mines that belong to the West, mines that belong to House Lannister.

_We pay our debts and then some. Now when bards sing ‘Rains of Castamere’ they shall also sing, of how even in death, the Castameres serve House Lannister._

“Yes, without others involved, the draining and rebuilding can happen quickly without outside influence,” his father states.

_Meaning all the silver and gold found does not need to be given to another house in repayment for help. House Lannister will always take the lion’s share._

“Now, let us speak about why you really want these betrothals,” his father demands.

His uncles, aunt, and his father and even himself and Cersei have all been apart of this discussion. Of what Rhaegar and Lyanna’s actions will cost this realm even years or decades from now; because sure, the High Septon decreed their marriage valid, it does not negate that Aegon the Seventh of His Name – for he will not forget about the son Elia miscarried – was born a bastard.

No amount of maneuvering will cover up that Rhaegar and Lyanna wed without leave from Aerys nor Rhaella, oh sure the realm is quiet now, for people are tired of war. However, it cannot be denied that it happened, and in Dorne of all places.

The fact that the then prince had taken liberties, kingly liberties while his father – while mad, but still the king, was alive…it does not bode well.

“All of us sitting here, all of us know the ramifications for your son’s actions and that wolf girl are not yet done. Gods be damned, I never cared for the Dornish, but I would rather see Princess Elia on the throne, least she can handle herself as a queen as she is one now. I’ve seen the Stark girl crumbling under her duties, Rickard Stark did a disservice when he did not remarry. Least I have Genna.” His father sneered as he spoke about the new queen, though who doesn’t sneer when talking about her?

Jaime can feel his eyebrows raise in surprise, his father hardly ever compliments anyone, but then again Elia is now in a position of great power, Dorne is in a position of great power with all their Essosi connections. While his father may have disregarded them before when Princess Loreza came back to the West for Jaime’s hand for her daughter’s, his father would be a fool to do so again and Tywin Lannister is anything but that.

“I know Tywin,” Rhaella sighs out, thrumming her hands against the table as she calmly spoke.

“Now we will have a succession crisis in a few years. Who cares what the High Septon says, even he knows the truth of the matter. That Aegon is nothing more than a bastard, while any further children they may have may be legitimate, they will still be children of Rhaegar _and_ Lyanna. Their whole marriage is questionable, as will every child they spit out.”

His father shakes his head, and Jaime knows the feeling. Jaime only had to deal with Aerys for a short time, yet his father dealt with him for twenty years. What it must be like to not only clean up after the father but now the son – _I pity my father and now I pity myself._

Once again Jaime does not find himself surprised that Rhaella is not defending her son nor new good daughter. What is a queen who did her duty and married against her will at three and ten say about a rowdy girl who shirked hers? How do you defend a man grown from making choices that are resounding throughout the realm?

Jaime does not envy the position the queen dowager finds herself in, not at all.

“With Daenerys in the Crownlands, with Viserys soon being housed in the West, I can only assume that this is being done to ensure that _when_ the crisis of succession happens, you mean for us to put forth Viserys on the throne.” The room goes quiet after his father speaks.

Jaime watches as Lord Lucerys leans back in his chair, running a hand over his face and Jaime feels the same way, because things never stop, they do not stand still but keep going just like the waves on the sea.

It is not a matter of _if_ the crisis of succession happens but just a matter of _when_ because everyone in the room and even Dorne knows it will. Jaime does not doubt that Dorne will simply watch in response in a decade’s time when Prince Viserys is eight and ten, when the realm has rebuilt itself and the great matter at hand is brought to the forefront.

Prince Viserys dotes upon his baby sister, just as he had with little Deria, without the tainted view of Aerys own disregard for his half Dornish granddaughter. Jaime does not doubt that when the time comes, Princess Daenerys will be more inclined to back her elder brother instead of her eldest brother’s son. For why should she?

The Princess Daenerys is hardly a year old and already she is set to do her duty, while his own daughter has yet to even exist in Denyse’s womb.

“It is what I fear for the most, the Blackfyre Rebellion, their pretenders ended during my father’s reign with the War of the Ninepenny Kings and now in almost two decades, we shall have another. Aegon is a sweet child, but…” Rhaella seemed hesitant and she looked at each man at the table, solemn but resigned.

“I cannot ignore the truth. It is better for my second son to inherit the throne then to have another rebellion such as Robert’s that threatens to tear down House Targaryen. As you all know, Viserys is still young, he can be shaped to rule, he can be more like Viserys the Second than Viserys the First.”

_It must be something, foreswearing one son and his ilk for the younger son and daughter. Rhaegar did himself a disservice when he did not remove his father from the throne and have a Great Council called. Mayhaps if he had taken care to safeguard his mother from his father’s cruelty, she would not be willing to give him up so easy._

His father began speaking again, but Jaime is once more in his own thoughts and strategies. He recalls when he first saw Lyanna Stark in passing with Ser Barristan and Ser Arthur following behind her, when she was carrying the new Aegon in her arms.

He had wanted to ask her, “was it worth it?”

That is the only question he has for the wolf queen, was it worth it?

_Aerys was mad no doubt, but had you not run off with Rhaegar, there would have been no need for your brother nor father to come to the capital. There would have been no need for Aerys to call for your second brother’s head nor Robert’s. Had Rhaegar been more focused on his family, on ruling the realm he would have had sense to call a Great Council, to not have wasted away the opportunity at Harrenhal to gain the Old Lion’s help. Now in a decades time, war shall be brought forth again, with you and Rhaegar at the forefront of it all._

Because even now, Rhaegar could have still cut the deal that his mother was cutting now with his father and Lord Lucerys, had Rhaegar secured Rhaella, then she could have secured Lucerys who had already stepped away from Aerys. Prince Viserys would still wed a daughter from Jaime’s loin, and Dorne would still be in the King’s peace.

But no, prophecies and love demanded Rhaegar’s attention and now here they are, plotting and planning the next decades away to ensure the realm does not bleed anymore than it already has.

Prince Viserys shall have the westerlands, along with the Lannister fleet and gold, not to mention Lord Lucerys, though he wonders about House Velaryon politics concerning Lucerys and his heir and son, Monford. Lucerys does not like Rhaegar but Rhaegar had thought to keep the Velaryons on his side by granting Monford the title of master of ships. However, everything Monford knows, he knows from Lord Lucerys, so what does it matter that Rhaegar gave him a seat on the small council?

Jaime then thinks about the rest of the six kingdoms, in a way he is almost glad Dorne is left idle past the Red Mountains. Elia had been fond of Queen Rhaella and Prince Viserys, so should she whisper in the Ruling Prince of Dorne’s ear, Prince Doran then Jaime knows it will be in favor of Prince Viserys and not in favor of the son of the girl who replaced her.

Stannis Baratheon holds no love for his cousin nor Lyanna, while Stannis is a dour man with his Florent wife – though Denyse has been kind to the long eared woman and help rid the woman of her fuzzy mustache, making her a little more attractive – Renly however, _is_ a charismatic young man. The stormlands had been eager for Robert but then he died and while Stannis leaves a lot wanting, his brother Renly is agreeable enough.

_Maybe I should speak to father about having Renly fostered here. Let him become friends with Prince Viserys, show him that at least one of his Targaryen cousins is amendable._

The riverlands are tied to the North through Catelyn Stark nee Tully, but as it usually is, the riverlands had been ravaged during Robert’s Rebellion. Hoster Tully is at the wall as is Jon Arryn. Young lord Edmure has his uncle, Ser Brynden the Blackfish and that would be a worry, as those Tullys are all about family – they would no doubt band together with the Starks for Lyanna and her son. But Lysa Tully married some man from the Fingers, a lord of unknown prestige after Jon Arryn was sent away and Rhaegar had the High Septon break their marriage, though it had been consummated. _Now doesn't that sound familiar?_

The Vale has Harrold Hardyng, the heir of the Vale, nephew to Jon Arryn. With Lysa Tully remarried, the Vale is no longer bound to the riverlands nor the winterlands. The Starks are far off in their cold homes but from what he saw last night with the Sultan Mehmed and even Elia speaking with Lord Bolton and all the rumors of unrest in the North, well trouble may be there already. The north was already upset at the folly of Lyanna, costing them their lord paramount and heir not to mention the men who had went south with Brandon Stark to demand his sister back. It may be divided in a decades time, not to mention civil unrest or possibly even war, should Eddard Stark prove futile as a lord, since he had not been raised for it. _Though he did foster in the Vale under Jon Arryn._

Jaime smirks though, knowing that the Boltons are not helping settle the tension but instead are gently fanning the flames. Then that leaves the Reach but that is why his father got him a Hightower bride, who else to keep a close eye on the Tyrells and circumvent their power. The Roses are always eager for more power, as they always have been since the days of Aegon the Conqueror. The Iron Islands are like Dorne, they mostly stay out of the politics of the South, preferring their own internal politics and games. But Queen Rhaella had been right about the silence of those reavers and rapers. 

While House Velaryon is in the crownlands, Jaime figures it would be a draw on who they would fight for. Rhaegar and Aegon the Seventh, bastard prince or Prince Viserys, whose lineage cannot be denied and who Aerys had almost declared his heir when Rhaegar was gone? Matters not, not with the plans his father will have concocted. Just as they spoke about earlier, Prince Viserys is still young and pliable, he still has a chance to be greater than his father and brother. Why start with a bastard prince when there is a second prince whose legitimacy cannot be contested and who has the backing of both Lord Lucerys and Lord Tywin?

Oh, his father is pleased no doubt, for he conspired to have Cersei wed Rhaegar before Aerys deemed his father a ‘servant’ and not worthy of the then crown prince. His father had been denied that opportunity, yet here is another one laid at his feet with a bow applied nicely to it. His daughter will not be a queen, no, but his granddaughter shall. This is also in hand with Jaime himself shaping Prince Viserys, as will the influence of Tywin be found in the prince too.

When Lord Lucerys and Queen Rhaella leave, his father stands before him, his hands behind his back as it often is in his contemplation and no sooner than their guest leave and the servants clean away the table, do his uncles and aunt enter the room. Cersei trailing in quickly, though Jaime noticed her looking flush and he can only raise his eyebrows at that.

It is Aunt Genna who speaks first, pouring herself a cup of wine as she sits down in the very seat, Queen Rhaella had just vacated.

“So, Tywin, tell us what the seahorse and dragon wanted.”

His aunt has always been shrewd, but Jaime knows that she appreciates his father all the same, for he had been the one to voice his discontent at her not just marrying a Frey but a second son at that.

His father looks to him, nodding his head but his pale green-golden flecked eyes give nothing away.

“In two years’, time Prince Viserys will be fostered here. Princess Daenerys shall wed Baelon Velaryon when she is six and ten and he nine and teen. My daughter shall wed Prince Viserys when she too is six and ten. Once Castamere is drained, it shall be rebuilt and refurbish for my daughter and good son.”

Jaime looks around the room, the different levels of shock and pleasure is clear to see on everyone’s face, none more so than Cersei and his father.

“Good, I was not able to become queen, first Elia and now that Northern wench. But my niece? I can drink to that; the time has come for a Lannister queen.”

Cersei’s eyes sparkle and it is not unspoken that should Jaime not produce a daughter then it will be Cersei’s daughter who will be queen, but it does not matter. A Lannister shall marry a Targaryen prince, just as their father always wanted and now a Lannister shall be queen. 

“I am surprised Rhaella has given up on Rhaegar,” his uncle Kevan notes and his uncle Gerion nods his head in agreeance.

Jaime cannot help but scoff, his disdain showing in the privacy of his family, “why should she hold her son to her bosom when he did not care to protect her from Aerys? Let alone seek her council when he and that wolf girl ran off and left destruction in their wake. It had been Rhaella and Elia who faced Aerys’ wroth when Rhaegar disappeared.”

When you take vows, you are beholden to someone or something, either to your morals and ethics, to your gods or to the gods _and_ your spouse. Rhaegar threw away his moral, ethics and vows when he left for Dorne with no one the wiser. Ser Arthur left his vows when he stood by and said nothing, as did the other Kingsguard brothers who left just himself to guard Aerys and deal with that madman.

“No, that kind of idiocy will not be allowed to fester in Prince Viserys, I shall be sure of that. _We_ shall ensure that.”

Jaime stares at his uncles, who look at him and then to their elder brother but once again his father does not give anything away, his eyes are on Jaime and Jaime meets his father’s stare head-on.

Then, for the first time since his mother was alive did Tywin Lannister smile – not just a tug at the lips when he was pleased – but an actual smile.

His father did not trust laughs and the last time anyone heard him laugh was when his mother was alive, and his father laughed at his mother’s joke. Three times it was said his mother had been able to coax a laugh from the usual stoic lord, but she had managed to do it all the same.

Now it seems Jaime has been able to get a smile from his father, a genuine smile as he walks around the room. His father looks as pleased at the cat who has a fresh bowl of cream.

“A Lannister always pays their debt. Aerys scorned me because he was afraid of my power, as he should have been, but he should not have denied my daughter. Now with the plans for Castamere to be drained, we shall be able to fund endeavors, more ships for our fleet, more grain for winter.”

His father stands tall and Jaime watches as his tilts his head slightly back, looking at the ceiling as he inhales deeply and then exhales just as slowly.

“There is no doubt in my mind that the Iron Throne will have a succession crisis once the realm has been rebuilt. The crown prince is nothing, but a bastard whelped from the wolf. Rhaegar is a fool, but Prince Viserys will not be. We have two years to put plans in motions, to begin draining Castamere and rebuilding both Castamere and Tarbeck Hall. Ten years after Prince Viserys arrives to shape him into a king, by Lannister standards.”

With that, his father leaves the room, his strides are sure as ever but while he is no longer smiling, his eyes are infinitely pleased.

His uncles and aunt leave next, each one thinking over not just his words but also his father’s. They are probably thinking what this means for House Lannister and the years, decades to come when everything is all said and done.

Cersei and himself are the only ones remaining in the room. Cersei walks forward, pouring themselves a cup of wine before she sits down and motions for him to do the same, he does.

Jaime looks at her, truly looks at her, focusing in on the same eyes as his, the same blonde hair as though it has been spun. He’s not some green boy who is shy and weak-willed, he is a man grown and hardened by his experience and he isn’t afraid of his elder sister.

“What did Elia say to you?”

Cersei drinks from her cup, taking longer to swallow the wine as she just stares at Jaime, her eyes calculating just like their father’s.

“The truth,” she answered.

Two lions sit across from one another, one with his mane just growing, just darkening from maturity, while a lioness stares, her eyes intense and discerning as they both prowl around each other.

“Is that right? What does the truth entail?”

It’s the lion that shows his claws first, taking a swipe to test if the lioness will strike out in anger, to see if she will miscalculate and unknowingly give the lion the opportunity to put her down before she even begins.

She doesn’t.

Cersei inhales and then exhales, just as their father did moments ago before he left the room and she takes another sip of wine, but this time a bigger gulp.

“Mother tried to separate us when we were younger, but we disobeyed her. Mayhaps we should have kept true to our promise not to do what we did again.”

Jaime nods his head, remembering one of the servants of their mother had caught them and their mother told them to stop their behavior, lest she tell their father. Jaime shivers at the idea of their father ever finding out, not when Jaime has been gaining his approval. Though he enjoys his talks with Denyse and even the letters they exchanged when their betrothal had been announced, no one else needs to know about Jaime and Cersei besides Elia. Elia will keep his secrets just as he will keep hers.

“Yes, but better now then never. We can honor her in this way.”

Cersei just raised a perfectly arched golden eyebrow at him, the lioness is not pleased that he would use their mother as a reasoning for the severance in their relationship.

“When Elia spoke to me, I left her side and watched Prince Oberyn and his wife, Princess Jade. She even spoke of how she wields twin swords, of how she studied alchemy and poisons alike. Mayhaps if father had agreed to the betrothal, I would have been free in Dorne. I could’ve studied the sword, learn how to poison my enemies and my husband would have been happy to teach me so. The Dornish are an odd sort, but I envy them for giving their daughters the choice. The choice to choose, even Prince Oberyn’s daughters are free and fierce, bastards though they are.”

His sister hardly ever expresses regret, for as long as he can remember Cersei has always been right and he cannot help but be even more curious as to what exactly Elia said to her. But knowing Elia as he does, she must have been able to install sense into his sister. A guiding hand just as she was to him in the capital and even now through the exchange of their letters.

“I realized that once I am married, I shall leave for Ashemark. I shall be the lady of the castle, though Lord Damon is still alive, his wife is not. I shall rule that castle, without father nor Tyrion around,” she sneers on Tyrion’s name, but it is not as harsh as it once was.

 _Freedom_ , it is freedom his sister shall be getting, freedom from their father and little brother. While Jaime does not begrudge or hate Tyrion for the death of their mother, Cersei and their father do.

_Cersei will be free, and Tyrion will no longer have to be cowed once their father is back in the capital nor Cersei tormenting him._

“I wish to congratulate you baby brother, Denyse Hightower is not a bad bride to have, you could do worse.”

Cersei gets up from the table, walking towards Jaime and he is glad that he does not tense up at her near presence. His elder sister leans down and kisses his cheek, her lips are as soft as he remembers but they are so different from Denyse’ lips.

The proud lioness stares at him, before becoming haughty as is her nature once again, “I shall burn bright, brother. Just like the golden lioness that I am.”

Before she can leave, Jaime calls out to her, “I wish to congratulate you too. Addam is a good knight, a good friend. He will make you happy.”

Ser Addam had been his childhood and even now they still enjoy one another’s company. He knows that Ser Addam will not stray from his vows, not with Cersei as his wife and Jaime as his good brother, not accounting having the Old Lion of the West as his good father. But Addam doesn’t need to be reminded of just who he is married to in order to adhere to his vows, because he is gallant and true on his own merit.

“I know that,” is all she says before she leaves the room, leaving Jaime alone with his thoughts.

Jaime reaches forward and grabs ahold of his cup of wine, drinking in the taste of the honeyed wine as he stares at the wall in front of him. His thoughts flying and shifting quickly in his mind as he thinks about everything that has happened this morning.

Jaime exhales loudly as his thoughts turn toward the tourney. It will not be as long as the one held at Harrenhal or even the one his father had thrown for the birth of Prince Viserys. It will hold the jousting as the main component with a crown of flowers. Since his father was hosting the tourney, it would be Cersei wearing a crown of gazanias until the champion wins, as Jaime knows those are Elia’s favorite and that Sultan Mehmed stated he would join in the joust.

He is curious to see how Moraqi steeds ride, the sultan having brought his own warehouse on the voyage. A part of him is almost gleeful at the idea that if the sultan wins, he will crown Elia, as Jaime himself will not take part in the tourney, not wishing to get injured before his wedding. Denyse likes to dance, and he would rather not have to sit during their wedding feast because he fell from a horse.

No, better to leave that honor to the sultan and for Elia to finally get her crown of flowers. Jaime stretches his neck, thinking about Rhaegar and Lyanna has brought upon a foul mood in him, just irritation at their actions but the little Prince Viserys had been alright enough from what he remembers when Aerys did pay mind to his second son.

_The boy will be eager for some paternal and even brotherly affection. If Rhaegar hardly gave attention to his wife and daughter, outside of prophecies then I do not doubt he spared any affection for the boy._

The tourney will not be for a few more hours, as guests travel in from the inns if they had not been housed at the Rock, or even in their tents at the tourney grounds.

A smile works his way onto his lips as he leaves the room, walking just as proud as a lion prowling his territory, as he walks towards Tyrion’s room, where he does not doubt the prince and his little brother are.

_Better now then never._

Posted: 06/08/2020

Edited: 06/08/2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention how much I love Jaime?


	20. Still Dreaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even the best laid plans can end up in ruin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got away from me, like for real, damn near 10k. BUT BITCH! I reached 100k and I am definitely proud of that and I just want to thank all your readers and reviewers. Engaging with you guys is so much fun and I seriously enjoy talking with you all. Ya'll are literally the best.

The week was coming to an end, it had been filled with excitement, but Elia had mainly sat and watched the tourney with some worry, afraid that with every round Mehmed participated in, something unfortunate would happen to him. Elia has come to appreciate her husband and understand him quite well – among other feelings, and she does not wish for something as silly as an accident during a joust to take him away from her.

 _I have come too far for that;_ she thinks as she helps Mehmed with his armor. While the outside of their tent is bustling with activity, with guards posted just outside the entrance, the inside of their tent is silent outside of black armor clinking softly.

Elia hums under her breath, making quick work as her eyes take in her husband. When Elia had first saw Mehmed in all his armor on the first day of the tourney, she felt herself grow warm and wet at the image he had presented in front of her.

Her husband was quite literally a sword against silk, a cutting image that allowed no words to form on her lips but now she can silently appreciate his appearance as she helped him dress.

Mehmed had told her he never participated in a tourney, at least one like this that is so different from the games that are held in his empire. In Moraq, there are wrestling and grappling matches, ‘hand to hand combat’ Mehmed has told her, where the fighting is up close and personal. Mehmed had painted her a vivid picture and when Elia had told Oberyn, she could admit she daydreamed of what that would be like, to see her husband grappling up close. Oberyn had teased her and said, “but I thought you two already grappled in bed!” Her idyllic daydream had been snuffed out with her younger brother’s quip and the wink that accompanied it.

“I suppose now I should give you my favor?” Mehmed stood tall in his armor, his hair had been tied back into a knot, but some loose curls had managed to escape their confinement.

“Ah, I shall take it when I ride astride before you in the stands.”

At this, Elia laughed out heartily, shaking her head, “why is it, that all the men in my life are such fans of theatrics? First it was my own papa, then Doran, Oby following suit and now you.”

Her mother, Loreza was often exasperated by her father, Maron. Maron who towards those outside of the family was a serious and hardened man, loved to jest with those close to him. Her father had been the one to teach them all about poisons, his own grandmother, Lady Kynir who was an Orphan, had taught him. One day her father had taken a vial of his own concoction and had no pulse and their mother had wailed throughout the palace. Loreza had thought Maron was dead until he rose from the bed that Loreza had been crying over. Mama had made Papa sleep in the Sandship for a full moon before taking him back into her bed. While Doran was not as extreme, Oberyn sure was and to know her husband liked to engage in such antics tickled her but also exasperated her.

“Come now Elia, I am not as bad as Oberyn. However, I am surprised Oberyn doesn’t have a seneschal for every time he goes to the privy.”

They had been making their way outside of the tent when Mehmed spoke, and Elia had stopped walking and just stared at her husband before another laugh carried in the air. Her laugh seemed to be infectious because Mehmed had laughed too.

“I do not think Oberyn will like your joke. If anything, he _will_ have Ricasso follow him around, to announce everything he does. _Please_ do not put this notion into his head, I beg you. We will be gone to Moraq, but Doran will have to deal with the fallout. I would rather not get angry letters from my elder brother.”

Because that is exactly what will happen, just as how Oberyn sent letters home when he was faux exiled, especially when he left the Citadel and Doran almost croaked about it. 

“I thought it was a younger sibling’s duty to cause mischief for their elder sibling?”

A low groan escaped her lips as she shook her head, “that is exactly what Oberyn believes, as does Jade. We must be the responsible ones, my sweet.”

“According to Doran, you also had a streak of mischievousness growing up.” 

_Leave it to Doran to tattle._

“I can neither confirm nor deny such allegations against my character, my lord.”

While Elia had a hand in Oberyn’s schemes growing up, she made sure her hands were always clean. Elia had been unsuspecting and Oberyn didn’t care to take the fall even if no one suspected her – outside their parents and brother, of course.

“Oh, I seem to recall the story about a princess and prince who were eight and seven, in the Water Gardens and somehow the water in the pools turned yellow.”

Elia squeaked in surprise, she immediately denied it, her curls bouncing against her back as she did so, as they walked amongst the crowd of nobles and some landed knights.

“No!” she gasped out, “that was an accident. It was supposed to turn red, Oberyn overestimated his training from papa. Instead of blood it looked like all the children in the Gardens pissed in the pools.”

When it had happened, she had been horrified, she had pinched Oberyn something fierce because clearly, he missed out on the color lessons their father taught them about dyes and toxins. Their mother had taken rest in the Water Gardens and when she saw what had happened, she thought it had been some conspiracy – that all the children came together and decided to make water in pools. Oberyn had laughed at the thought, he told their mother that, that was exactly what had happened.

Their mother had looked at them with her viper eyes, so alike to their own, gauging the truth from them and she sent them back to Sunspear that very hour. The Water Gardens had been closed for two moons to get rid of the yellow water. Oberyn had dubbed himself, ‘The Pisswater Prince’ and their mother had damned near strangled her youngest and most unruly child then and there.

“Whatever you say, my dear. I am sure I must’ve misheard Doran telling this tale.” Mehmed placated her bruised ego from all those years ago and she could only chuckle softly. So many times, growing up, her and Oberyn had schemes that truly caused chaos throughout the palace. Uncle Lewyn had watched on, sometimes even offering his advice to Oberyn because who else knew how to wind up their mother outside of her husband than her baby brother?

When her father died, Elia thinks her mother appreciated Oberyn’s and uncle Lewyn’s sense of humor more. While the pain of losing her beloved consort did not fade, her laughter drowned out the anguish instead.

Mehmed gave her a chaste kiss on the lips, though he lingered just a bit and she could not help to smile as she waved him away, still chuckling softly to herself as she sat down next to her brother and good sister.

“What has you laughing so heartily, I could hear your laughter from here,” Oberyn looked at her curiously as he spoke.

“I was just telling Mehmed about the ‘Pisswater Prince’.”

Oberyn barked out a laugh, his shoulders slightly shaking even as Jade asked "who is that?” As Oberyn begins to regale his wife with tales of his shenanigans of his youth – though they continue even now – Elia pulls her cloak tighter around herself. The gown she wore had long sleeves, that complemented her cloak that help to help fight off the winter chill that was hanging in the airs of tourney grounds.

Elia shook her head once again in fondness, as she looked around the tourney grounds, some have already begun taking their seats and just like at the dinner earlier in the week; their party sat next to the Lannisters on one side with the Targaryens on the other, the Lannisters acting as a buffer.

Elia had not spared a thought as she crossed the Royal party with her guards trailing behind, some taking point at the bottom of the stands near the stairs, while Daedra and Seraeron followed her and took point behind herself, Oberyn and Jade; both hers and Jade’s ladies remained seated behind them, giggling together as they spied knights.

Since Rhaegar had taken his seat just before Elia arrived in the stands, more people began to follow suit now that the _king_ was in attendance. The Hightowers near the Martells, just as they did at the welcoming feast a few days ago; Elia noted that Jaime was speaking to his betrothed who had sat next to him, instead of her family. Lord Tywin appeared beyond pleased at this action from his soon to be good daughter, as the Lady Denyse is wearing one of the gowns that Jaime has gifted her.

_It does not hurt that it shows off her curves, letting others see her birthing hips and the potential for the heir of the heir._

Elia had been in her own thoughts, when a familiar golden head sat down next to her, her eyebrows rose in surprise when Cersei flattened her skirts and readjusted her cloak before turning towards the Dornishwoman.

“I have been thinking about our conversation at the feast. It sounded like you spoke from experience,” Cersei stated, her green orbs peering into her own onyx gaze.

“I grew up in the Water Gardens, where status is discarded amongst children and where we can simply be children,” is her only reply.

How easy it was growing up, being able to discard status and creating bonds with other Dornish children, in the peace of the pools and under the sun. Westeros can scorn Dorne all they want, but mayhaps if they followed Dorne with not just fostering but temporarily doing away with status amongst children, then the adults they grew into wouldn’t be so hard and jaded.

Their conversation is temporarily halted when the first round of the joust begins, with Ser Darren Penrose charging against Ser Lyonel Lannister. Considering that her husband is not in the round, Elia disregards it and turns her head slightly to Cersei, going back to their earlier conversation.

“It is very easy to have young love when you are not barred by status. However, even in the Water Gardens children _do_ grow up, pulled away from their simple dreams of youth and love.”

While Elia’s own mother had no machinations for her only daughter to be queen of the realm, when Aerys had called she distinctly remembers her mother’s sigh. Her mother had been silent for a long moment, before she nodded her head to herself and began Elia’s lessons on what to expect in the capital. They could not deny Aerys, not when Elia had been unattached and so her mother threw herself into Elia’s preparations, instructing and guiding her on the dangers that the capital could present to her.

It had been at their mother’s encouragement that uncle Lewyn join the Kingsguard, being a simple sworn shield for Elia would not be enough, not in King’s Landing. Her uncle Lewyn had been privy to information and while he hardly ever guarded the king, with Aerys disdain for the Dornish known, his white cloaked brothers liked him enough to divulge information. Information was power and having a white cloak that was a Martell near the king had helped – but it also came at a price.

Cersei seemed to be disregarding the joust also, though it is her own kinsmen in this round, she seems more eager to hold the conversation with Elia. While Elia knows that they would not be near friends such as she, herself is with Jaime, she is glad that their conversation so far is amicable.

“What happened in the Gardens?”

“The King called, and we answered. Youthful dreams and aspirations died before they could really be born, such is the tale for most women when it concerns young love and infatuation,” she states, though her response is not filled with grief.

Before she had mourned Ser Arthur, but now she does not even give him that. Elia understands why her mother did not allow them to marry, because while her own father had been a second son – he brought something with him. Not just friendship but military prowess and wisdom in the art of warfare. While Ser Arthur had been knighted young, he had no other titles, no other lands to offer. Elia had wanted Lord Gerion Dayne to grant Arthur a holdfast, but even then, it was a faraway dream, a princess living in a small holdfast? No, after Doran had married for love – which she did not begrudge for the heavens know they had all feared Doran would take no consort – Elia had to be married off well.

One simple message, written in Maester Pycelle’s hand with Aerys’ words had cost Elia so much. The only thing that Elia does not regret is her daughter, who she misses terribly while here in the west and her friendship with Rhaella and Viserys.

But alas, Elia knows that if she could go back, somehow turn back the hand of time and fate she would do things differently. Wholeheartedly.

The Golden Lioness shocked Elia when she spoke next, “do you miss him?”

“No,” is her immediate response, she cannot miss what was never hers in the first place, no matter how much she had fooled herself in the beginning. Elia continues, “he betrayed me, and I am not the kind of woman who forgets such a betrayal, not when he was a friend. To be truthful his betrayal hurt more than Rhaegar’s.”

Before Elia often wondered which betrayal hurt her more, Rhaegar’s or Arthur’s but Arthur had been her friend first, who use to gift her seashell necklaces and bracelets. Who would braid her hair by the pools before they swam, her first kiss had been given to him. No, Arthur had splintered her heart and darkened her soul when she found out where he had been during the war. She knows that the Kingsguard are expected to obey their king, but even Aerys wanted Lyanna brought back to the Red Keep and while Elia would not wish Aerys on her worse enemy, Arthur should have been there.

It should not have been Ser Jaime ready to draw his sword in her defense, such a young boy that he had been. No, it should have been her fellow Dornishman but alas, she would not trade her friendship nor sisterly affection for the Young Lion for anything in this world.

Her hands clench at the reminder of the betrayal, the hatred in her heart creeping up her spine once more and she takes a moment to breathe as she hears wood splinter and the people in the stands clapping as the Lannister knight won his bout.

“Did you forgive Harrenhal?”

_How bold this lioness is!_

Their conversation is not for others’ ears, but she knows her brother is listening as Jade has begun talking to one of her cousins about this or that, Elia does not know. Oberyn had been there to witness Elia’s silent retreat when Rhaegar had crowned Lyanna over her, when she had walked into her tent and threw her pitcher of wine. Oberyn had been there, when her black orbs caught fire and she wanted to scream but could not, for they were not alone even in their tents, as people surrounded them just outside of it.

Instead, Oberyn had given her a pillow and she buried her face in it, had wept at the pain she went through with her miscarriage and at the idiocy of her husband. Then she had muffled her screams of anguish as she clutched at the pillow, with Oberyn soothing her back as he hissed out words in the language of the Rhoynar. Outside of Dorne, no one spoke the different dialect of the people of the Rhoyne, and his curses had told her he wanted to poison Rhaegar and the king.

“Do you think me such a weak-willed woman, that I would forgive a slight such as that? Oh, he tempered me by saying he had to _honor_ her, but I now know honor comes at a price, a price too high for others to pay and exact.”

People had thought Elia weak because she had left the stands of Harrenhal with her head held high, she would not be cowed in front of them, not then and not ever.

“You cannot blame me for thinking, I would have snatched that crown off the wolf’s head.”

At this, Elia laughs, and it even warrants a chuckle from her Oberyn, who no doubt overhead the lioness’ comment. Elia wonders is this how her mother felt when she had been a lady-in-waiting to Rhaella with Joanna Lannister as her friend.

Elia knows that the people looking at them must see that, for it was no secret that Loreza Martell and Joanna Lannister had been the sisters to one another that they never had, including the younger Rhaella.

“That is the difference between us. Let me give you some sound advice, do not ever let them see you cowed, not ever in public. Behind closed doors you can muffle your screams and even pick up a dagger and wish to send one of your father’s men to take a head, but never allow your mask to fall in public. Your enemies will take that moment, when you are unguarded and they will pounce on you, not caring about your moment of weakness. All it takes is one moment of being unaware.”

Oh, how hard it had been to keep her mask in place while living at Dragonstone and the capital. Only letting herself have her peace when she was in the privacy of the nursery with her daughter or with her ladies and retinue.

“My father had wanted me to be queen,” Elia had thought Cersei would speak bitterly but it only sounds like resignation in her tone.

“I had never wanted to be queen; I had wanted to stay in Dorne where often the Dornish do stay. Where we mind ourselves but alas, I was not granted that.”

“Yet, you are a queen now – an empress.” There was a small tinge of jealously that Elia could seek out in Cersei’s voice, but she shook her head as a seneschal announced the next round.

“At what cost, Lady Cersei? You saw my crown, yet it came at a steep cost, one I would not have paid had I known what it would entail. Do not get me wrong, I am much happier in my second marriage than I was in my first. That, I am ever grateful for, I find my new husband’s character much more aligned with my own. However, if I had known what I know now, I would have sought out Mehmed as a suitor when I was young.”

Elia will never not lament over that statement, if only she had some prophetic dream, that the sliver of Valyrian blood in her would have gave her the power to see her doom and allow her to take another path, make another choice that would’ve been better for not just herself but others all around.

At that their conversation dies down, for Elia knows that Cersei is most likely thinking on Elia’s words, even when Cersei stands and gives her favor to Ser Addam who had enlisted in the tourney. No doubt, the young gallant knight wants to crown his betrothed and Elia commends him on the effort.

Ser Addam is going up against Ser Jonathan Tyrell, and Elia clapped in the Westerman’s favor, for she would never willingly clap for a Tyrell. Oberyn had also shared in her sentiments and she wondered why her brother did not enlist in the tourney, he does love putting on a show.

“I am surprised you did not enlist brother; do you not wish to crown your wife?”

Oberyn only snorts at this and gives her a smile that is anything but innocent, “I have already given my wife a crown, but alas, you cannot see it in public.”

Elia would have gagged at her brother’s innuendo and while she never had any issues at reigning him in, she misses Doran and wants nothing more to cart off their baby brother to him so that Elia could wipe her hands clean of him, at least for the time being.

“You are a disgusting man,” Elia laughs softly to herself.

“Ah, but you love me still,” he plants a kiss on her forehead and Elia rolls her eyes good naturedly knowing that to be the truth. Elia would not trade Oberyn for anyone else, her and Oberyn had been put in the same crib when they were babes. Elia would cry and cry, as Doran would tell them and could only be soothed by Oberyn who would lay up against her and they held one another for warmth.

Elia adored both her brothers but Oberyn has always been hers in a way that Doran was not because of the age difference. Gossiping like two old maids over girls and boys alike, wreaking havoc when Elia was not sick, Oberyn keeping her company before he was fostered and always sending ravens to help keep her company and not wallow for missing her baby brother.

It was just like Tyene and Arianne, those girls orbited around each other – always up to some game or nothing good. Now that Dorne is independent, Elia often wonders about Arianne and her reign, though now she believes that Tyene will be by her side, either as a mistress of whispers such as the Lady Mysaria was for Daemon and Rhaenrya Targaryen, or perhaps an unofficial Hand. Her nieces were always concocting some scheme that reminded her too much of herself and Oberyn, but both Arianne and Tyene had the intuitiveness of their own grandmother, Loreza Martell and their father and uncle, Doran. 

Elia watches and claps in glee when Ser Addam wins his bout after attempting to knock the Tyrell knight after four times. Elia did not pay much attention to the schedule of the tourney, as the people of the west cheered for Ser Addam; she wonders when Mehmed will emerge from his tent astride his horse to collect her favor, but she sneaks a quick glance at Lord Tywin.

He sits in the stands as though it is a throne, surrounded by his brothers and sister, along with his children. Elia had saw Prince Viserys briefly and her heart had panged in silence as she watched the boy talking animatedly with Master Tyrion. She has not yet had an opportunity to speak with Rhaella nor Viserys yet, though she received a note from Rhaella asking to speak with her on Elia’s last day on the Rock. Rhaella must have spoken to Viserys and he did good with not reaching out towards her when she passed them earlier, thought she had wanted to, for she had missed her little friend and now lost - baby brother.

In public, Elia treated Rhaella cordially, showing that she had no bitterness towards her former good mother, though it was easy enough to see that Elia had no cordiality for Rhaegar nor his wolf lady. Not that anyone would expect her to, not when Elia had become a queen and did not step over her own brothers and father to do so.

Elia drifts in and out of conversations with the people surrounding her, Jade and herself speaking about all the wonders of Moraq and Jade’s favorite places to visit. Elia has been told of the Willow Plaza, where weeping willows have been planted from some generations ago that make up the plaza, where people sit on a hot day and allow the water from the willows to cool them off.

Some saplings had been brought from more traders from the east, specifically the ones from Leng that grow bigger and taller than their Moraqi counterparts. Though the trees will not reach their full height for five and ten years.

Elia listens in attention to her sister, Jade making jokes at Oberyn’s expense because before they had left Sunspear she had bested him with her knowledge of toxins from Asshai.

_Only those two would bond over poisons and toxins alike. Oh papa, you would have been proud to have this one as another daughter._

Her thoughts were interrupted as the crowd got silent as Mehmed rode atop his black warhorse, its coat shining in the western sun. He looked like all the tales that are told of princes and kings – majestic, glorious, and unattainable to the small folk. Though she knows this to be untrue for he is hers just as she is his.

As Mehmed sits on his horse, his reigns relaxed as he stirs Nuray towards where she is sitting. Her face gives nothing away, but she cannot help but relax her mouth enough to offer a small tug at the lips, obviously pleased to see her husband coming near her.

Her husband looks stunning in all his glory, black armor atop a black steed, with Nuray’s mane having intricate braids throughout that led into one big braid that laid against the beautiful steed’s neck.

To be quite honest, her husband looked like the Stranger, shrouded in black with his black horse that look liked a night’s sky without any stars nor moon to brighten the way. He was intimidating and Elia cannot help but wonder what it must have been like for his enemies to face him as he rode near dusk that blended into the night to kill. Some would call it dishonorable to fight at night, to allow both camps to sleep but Mehmed has told her there is no honor in warfare – only life and death. Either you kill or be killed, and she was reminded of her father so much then and there. Her father would kill insurgents against her mother’s rule and think nothing of it, because he was doing what was required of him, to make it back home to his wife and family - Maron Gargalen did what needed to be done.

As Mehmed raises his lance, as it hovers over the banner of the stands, Elia rises from her seat, pulling her favor from her wrist. While she had scolded Mehmed earlier about theatrics, she is her father’s daughter and her brothers' sister and makes a show of kissing her favor, being tying it around the lance.

“May the gods favor you, my lord.”

She could snort at calling her husband that, but it was softer then addressing him as His Grace or Majesty when in public, just acknowledging him as her lord husband was enough for Mehmed. They had long since done away with titles, especially now that they have gotten so close to one another.

It is only a moment as they stare at one another, before Mehmed nods his head and flips his visor down, as he guides Nuray back to the beginning line for the first bout in the joust.

“You did not get married so long ago, and already he looks at you the way my father use to look at my mother.”

Elia turns her head slightly, acknowledging Cersei’s words, finding it funny that the last time she was here when seeking a betrothal, Cersei tried to keep her away from Jaime – Elia not knowing they were lovers then. Now they have spoken more words to each other since she’s been here compared to the moon they had been here when they were younger.

“I understand him as he understands me, if you can not allow yourself to love your betrothed when he becomes your husband, at least love him as a friend.”

Thinking back at it now, Elia could laugh about how nervous she had been of Mehmed before he had even arrived thinking he would want to separate Elia from her beloved daughter. Elia could admit she had thought the worst of him, as her history with men was in the gutter but Mehmed has consistently proven her wrong – he was not like the others and she should not hold the sins and betrayals of others against him.

“Love him as a friend?” Cersei seemed perplexed of the idea and Elia could not blame her.

 _Is it love that I feel?_ It certainly did not feel like it, for what she felt for Mehmed was obviously more, more definitive then that four-letter word that meant nothing when she had been told it before.

“Indeed. Having a relationship based upon friendship is mayhaps the greatest thing you can have in a marriage. Have laughs together, come together at the end of day, and speak about the plans for the next. If you hold no one else in confidence, least make it your husband.”

Though she had not been paying much attention during the tourney, even the days before she knew Mehmed would be one of the finalists. Though Ser Addam had been defeated by Mehmed earlier after their bout, Cersei seemed happy enough that her betrothed had attempted to crown her.

It comes down to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Gerold Hightower and her own husband. The crowd seem more eager than Elia herself as she sits with her posture straightened and coiled, her fingers in her lap but she can feel her palms begin to sweat. Ser Gerold is a famed knight, while Mehmed on the other hand can ride his steed like any Dothraki khal. When he spars from what Elia has seen he is quick and graceful, never giving more than what has been given in turn. Her husband is not a green boy, no not at all but she cannot help but worry about him.

Though Elia has no disdain for the Hightowers though they are Reachman, she has no love for Ser Gerold who stayed at the Tower of Joy. Before the war she had not been so spiteful, but she finds her merciful nature towards those who went against their duty and better judgement has dwindled to nothing but kindling flames.

As Elia watches as the white standard is waved, both riders are off, Elia can hear the thundering hooves from her seat and she holds her breath when Mehmed shift in his saddle, his legs gripping his steed as he moves his chest out of the way, Ser Gerold’s lance which had grazed just above Mehmed’s head.

A sigh of relief is out of her mouth as her hands relax just a fraction as Mehmed turns around, and she wonders just how long he is going to keep this up as she watches him do the same thing again, Ser Gerold keeping his lance steady with the thought he would knock against Mehmed’s shield.

Everyone is watching and the tourney grounds is silent except for the background noise from servants but it seems even then everyone wants to watch the finalists compete. Not much is known about Moraq outside of the Moraqi Empire and Elia suspects it is that way for a reason, the enemies the Moraqi do come across are mainly Dothraki who wander too far into territory that is not theirs, and the Dothraki do not write down their skirmishes instead those tales are told orally. Moraq on the other hand, from what she has learned keeps a detailed history, from petty rivalries to battles, from minor trades with merchants within the empire to trade that comes across the straits all the way into Myr and Braavos.

Nothing is forgotten, not in Great Moraq.

_He is just toying with the Lord Commander now. I told him of all who guarded the Stark girl while I had only Jaime to defend me. I should have known that every slight given to me, Mehmed would seek to rectify it. It is his character._

It is one of the most pleasant things she finds about his character, though his actions are not honorable to some, it is still honor all the same. Mehmed does not dress himself up in white or gold armor and pretend to be someone or something he is not; he has no false pretenses as he detests lies. Elia had been speaking true when she told Cersei that Mehmed’s character was truly enjoyable to her own.

This was the fifth bout, _I wonder if the Lord Commander is tired yet, he is getting up in his years._ Elia watches as Mehmed charges once more, his posture never changing and while in one second it looks as though he’ll duck again, as he did before; this time he leans back into his saddle, as Ser Gerold’s lance is aimed lower where Mehmed had positioned himself in the bout before.

Mehmed shield laid his shield against his lower region and then he sat forward in his seat, his body leaning forward with all the weight in his sinewy frame. It is like a collision with how loud Mehmed’s lance hits against Ser Gerold’s shield and Elia smiles in some vengeful glee as the man who witnessed her humiliation fell from his horse, with a loud crunch.

Next to her, Elia can hear Oberyn hum in appreciation as to what has befallen the famed Lord Commander.

“That landing sounded painful, such a shame.” Oberyn spoke softly, mindful of the Hightowers and when Elia takes a glance at the Hightower party, though they looked surprised none of them seemed angry. _Hmm…mayhaps they did not agree with their kinsman's actions during the war._

Plenty of Reachmen, from House Tarly to the Florents and the Hightowers lost men during the war. Elia supposes that it does not feel good knowing their own kinsman sat out the war on his arse in the deserts while men of their house bled for the girl he guarded.

Mehmed had lifted his visor, staring down at the dusted Lord Commander but he steered his steed over towards the servant who housed the crown of flowers, and Elia could see him turn his head towards her and she could see the familiar tug of the lips. Elia feels as though she is waiting with bated breath as he stirs Nuray once again towards her, it is quiet on the tourney grounds.

Her stomach felt knotted in the way it felt their first night together, when they laid with one another as husband and wife. The tightness in her stomach traveled up to her heart that felt as though it was being squeezed but not in the painful way that she was used to.

While his face is sweaty, his brown eyes are dark, either from the activity of besting another man or from something else – she does not know, but she gazes at him with dedicated attention.

“Sevgili eşim,” Mehmed speaks clearly and loudly, and Elia can feel her face begin to redden, her Moraqi is coming along nicely and she swallows deeply as she rises from her seat as once again his lance is over the banner with her crown of flowers waiting to be placed on her head.

 _‘My beloved wife’_ , all she can do at that moment is stare at the man who came into her life with no words of apologies of her former life. Mehmed had simply been told by astrologers to go west and he listened, Elia cannot help to think of what would become of her had she not met the men below her on his horse.

“I crown you my Queen of Love and Beauty.” He raises his lance higher, so that it meets with her hands as she takes the crown for herself. Elia had seen it on Cersei earlier, but she is glad to smell the fresh scent of gazanias, thinking they must have been grown in one of the Lannister’s glasshouses that the Lady Joanna had kept as the Lady of the Rock.

Her crown of flowers sits on her head, just as easily as the crown she been bestowed with on her wedding day and she hears people clapping but she cares naught for that as she stares after Mehmed as he turns around, more than likely to bathe from his strenuous activity.

Elia turns around, towards her brother who gives her a dopey smile as does Jade who is leaning against Oberyn with one of her arms wrapped around his waist.

“I shall go and attend him,” her voice comes out normal and for that she is thankful, but she has one more thought and piece of advice for the Lady Cersei who wears a blank face.

“Above all is, when you are married to a friend you shall find that they honor you – if nothing else aside from being their wife but that you are a friend they can depend upon and vice versa.” Elia words are softly spoken, for Cersei’s ears alone and she passes by the rest of the Lannisters, with her guards following closely behind her, their armor silent as she drowns out the rest of the noise.

Elia passes the Royal party and her posture is that born of a princess and now sultana, as she made her choice long ago just as Mehmed did. If Elia had not been raised at her mother’s knee, she would have taken a hard glance at Rhaegar and the Wolf Queen, to show them that though they had taken two crowns from her, she will soon receive another one in Moraq.

 _I can do better than that_ , her mother would say that it is best to allow those that hate you to see your success. It has taken Elia awhile to get where she is at, from her fragile health when she returned to Dorne, to being under the care of Orphans who gave her herbs, to even the warlocks that accompanied Mehmed giving the cooks large green leaves to cook down. Though bitter, they tasted fine with saffron, salt and pepper; even now the meat she ate was a little bloodier but it did her well. Her health had been on a steady incline, especially when she did not have the burden of an empire resting on her shoulders to give her husband an heir when one was not needed, not truly.

 _‘My little sun, good things come to those who wait.’_ Is what her mother would tell her, when Elia had been taken to bed while being sick. Her mother would comb her hair and sing softly to her just as Elia does to her own little sun and while Elia always believed her mother’s words, she knows she had spoken true.

Elia had waited and waited, and now she was being justly rewarded.

As Elia nears Mehmed’s tent, she waves away her guards as she steps in, already to find Mehmed out of his armor, it being placed on an armor stand.

The servant that had been in the tent is waved away by Mehmed as he nears the bathtub, Elia notes that he has been stripped down to just some breeches with his chest bare and Elia walks over to help him finish undressing.

It is quiet in the tent and Elia struggles to find her words, as she unlaces his breeches and turns around to pour them some wine, knowing the spiced wine is a welcome reprieve.

“You rode well,” is all she says when she turns to find Mehmed lowering himself into the tub, she places the cup of wine into his hand and watches as he drinks it before handing it back to her as she drinks down her own. While the spice wine warms her, she feels hot under her cloak now – though Mehmed’s piercing gaze is surely not helping, not at all.

As the weeks passed in her marriage, when Elia found herself alone in her prayers she often thought about her mama and papa and their own marriage.

Loreza Martell had picked a childhood friend for a consort, while others had doubted the choice, Elia knows her mother had remained headstrong and would take no other than Maron. Courtiers and servants alike worried about the choice, while there had been Gargalen consorts before, not one who had a direct tie to an Orphan such as Maron, but those concerns had been put to bed when her parents married.

Doran had been born just a year after they wed, and the marriage had been a happy one until two children who died before their time, had almost destabilized it. Doran had told them how rocky it had been as mama had struggled with her grief, two babies taken from her had been hard and she sought out Maron’s own grandmother for advice considering she gave birth to twins.

It had been a miracle when Elia herself had been born just a year after Olyvar had died, though she came a moon early. While her health had been fragile, her mother heeded the Orphan healers more than the maesters, while the Red Princes had tried hard to stifle the Rhoynar culture in a misguided attempt at Princess Nymeria wish for assimilation, there has always been a deference for Rhoynar healers.

Elia had lived and a year later, Oberyn followed with loud screams compared to Elia’s soft and mewled ones. Their births had renewed their parents, but Elia can still remember the latent sadness in her mother’s eyes when she would pray on Mors’ and Olyvar’s namedays. It only compounded when her father died, it had been sudden – too sudden in Elia’s opinion.

For as long as she could remember, her father had been the one to braid her hair with his large hands, gifting her black snakelets for her small legs and carrying her when she fell asleep in the library. When her father died when she was only six and ten it had taken the air from Elia’s lung and doubly so for their mother. It had not been a jest when Maron did not wake from his sleep and Doran had kept Elia and Oberyn away as their uncle Lewyn comforted their mother.

After that, their mother had changed, oh she remained their mama, but she seemed more determined, more inclined to get others to bend to her will as she no longer had her consort at her side. When their mother would sit and judge those brought before her, Elia could notice the way her mother’s eyes would shift across to the consort's chair, as though waiting for her father to appear and sit, to help her rule.

Her parents had a marriage based on friendship that morphed into love and Elia had been able to see that with her own eyes, just as she saw the way Doran treated Mellario. Doran who could be aloof when it came to certain matters but the light in his eyes when he speaks and talks about Mellario is hard not to ignore. That light had been snuffed out of their mother’s eyes when their father died and now that Elia looks back on it, she feels as though her mother had held on for a long while.

While she added another day of prayer for Maron along with her two lost babes, her mother would tell her she found comfort in that Maron was with their two other sons. When their mother had died, for some reason it did not come to them as a shock, it was like all the Martell siblings knew, as their mother had been giving more power to Doran. When Elia was to be married to Rhaegar, it felt like a final lesson her mother was giving her, even Oberyn had been sent off to the Citadel with enough gold to Dornish Red to hold him steady for a year or two.

Doran had written to her when she married, of the last night he had with their mother. It had been a small family dinner and their mother had sat Arianne on her knee as she fed them both, kissing Arianne’s head and then kissing Doran and Mellario before retiring to bed.

 _What is must be like to welcome death so calmly, to be rejoined with the other half of your soul._ The Rhoynar believed in soulmates, a person who was perfectly attuned and just for you, as though that counterpart had been crafted by Mother Rhoyne and her consorts, the Old Men of the River themselves.

Her throat began to shrink as she finished her wine, some courage filling her bones and keeping the warmth in her belly from going out altogether.

It is a silly question, but she must ask anyway, “did you speak true, about the other night and even now?”

Her hands lift the crown from her head, staring at the orange, red and yellow colors in a daze before putting it back on her head to allow her hands to grab a cloth and some soap so that she could help wash away the sweat and grime form the tourney.

“Do you think me a false man?”

When Elia reached into the water to wet the cloth with one of her hands, it is seized by Mehmed’s own hand as she used the other one to steady herself. Elia is seated on the tool next to the tub, a small thing but it allows for her and Mehmed to be at eye-level, which only happens when they are in bed – his height does not allow for anything else.

“No, not at all, but I had to ask anyway.” Her husband does not stop looking at her and she begins to feel worried that her husband knows what she does not dare to say.

“Speak from the heart, Elia. I am not a cruel man, not to you.”

Her whole body feels coiled, as though she is preparing for something, the way her throat constricts and then loosens only to do it again and again and again.

“I do not know how I feel about you. I like you, of course for you are my friend and I truly cherish that. What I feel for you is different and I can admit it has been plaguing me for a while now.”

It takes considerate effort to get those words out of her mouth and the spiced wine has relaxed her a bit enough where the tension in her frame is slowly dissipating. Feeling bolder she continues, “the love I feel for my country and family is so very different. The love I thought I felt for men before, it now feels like a mummer’s show.” Elia rubs her forehead, not minding that her hands are wet from washing Mehmed, “mayhaps that was never love to begin with, infatuation maybe, yes that sounds better.”

_I was blinded, surprisingly. First with my childhood love and then with the beauty that was Rhaegar, or that what had been Rhaegar back then._

It was a disastrous thing, to wake up and realize nothing was real, coming to the brutal realization of Arthur and Rhaegar had been jilting to say the least.

“I find myself at a loss with the emotions I carry for you. Dangerous thing to have, don’t you think?”

Elia wished she weren’t so corrupted by her past, that the shadows from other’s actions did not stretch so far into the present with the man before her. It was not fair, and she tried, is _still_ trying but the shadows remain, eager to see what she’ll do next. 

“You can say it, though I think you do not wish to. Once you say it, this becomes more real then before. You are scared, that is quite alright. I have never loved a person before, no matter how much they wish to have me enraptured by them. We are alike in the way we do not give ourselves away easy. I bet those two men had to work hard for your affections, but they wasted them. Men are fools, even me at times though I am lucky that I have my parents, sister and Zaganos to keep my head on right.”

Her arms and hands are soak from scrubbing away at Mehmed and she backs away to grab a large towel for him to dry himself with. Elia watches in peace as he rises from the tub, the water glistening down his chest and back and her right arm crosses her body to lay against her hip.

“I believe myself to be in love with you,” the words spill out of her lips like spilled wine. She licks her lips slightly terrified that she spoke and wary because she remembers giving too much of herself away, first to Arthur then to Rhaegar.

This piece, this piece of her mangled heart that she had sewn back together with meticulous hands, Elia had been prudent in her time away from Sunspear when she was at the Gardens. She had thought that the heart she had sewn back together would hold strong and true this time, but now she finds that Mehmed has worked his way there taking it for himself.

A face falls into a frown as she thinks back to their first meeting, knowing that Mehmed had sealed her when he presented her with papers of Deria’s legitimization outside of Dorne and in Moraq. Deria was her little sun, just as Elia had been her mother’s.

“You believe or you know?” Mehmed has only tied the towel around his waist and she fervently wishes he would dress himself. The dance that is to accompany the tourney will be in a few hours, as the wedding will follow suit the following day and then they will be off back to Dorne before truly leaving Westeros altogether.

“You know what I mean,” she sounds exasperated now, though she feels no anger at her husband who eyes sparkle in return.

“No, I don’t. Say it.” He grabs her waist, feeling the soft curves of her body, the droplets of water on his arms and hands transferring to her yellow gown.

His hands rest under her face and she juts out her chin, not wanting to feel cowed by his demand. Because that is exactly what it was, a damn demand and Elia swallows a breath as she steels her nerves.

“You can say it first, you know?” She tries to divert this because she does not want to give away this piece of herself, even though she knows it is now gone and has been placed in Mehmed’s hand unknowingly, she cannot help but want it back.

Elia feels a lock of her curls being twisted around Mehmed’s hands, his fingers running through them being curling them, bringing her even closer as he leads her towards the chaise in the tent.

“Would it really make you feel better if I said it first. Alright,” her breath is hitched in surprise as her hands had been too slow to cover his mouth before the words ‘I love you’ slipped out.

Her shoulders sag in relief, when she sees the genuineness in his words and she bites her lips as her hands cover his mouth, though Mehmed looks surprised at her actions.

Elia closes her eyes, as she replays the words in her mind again, listening as she found no trace of malevolence or falsehood in his words. Elia is hoping the third time is the charm, that what she says next will not be the dagger in the back that she has been gifted with twice before.

_I have prayed to Mother Rhoyne to hear my prayers and even if I only hear him say it once, I only ask that these words hold true through time until death._

Instead of looking him in the eyes she hugs him, even as he pulls her astride, settling her in his lap and she leans her head down on his shoulder, shaking like a leaf in the wind. _Please do not make a fool out of me._ Elia doesn’t care about the wetness anymore as she presses her body against his, her arms circling around his strapping frame.

Her lips at pressed against his ear, the spice honeyed wine still fresh on her breath as she whispers her own exchange of ‘I love you too.’ In a way she almost feels like a fool, for putting herself at risk again but she does not want to be afraid in her marriage, not ever again.

A small voice whispers in her mind, that Mehmed did crown her, not once but twice in front of the realm. He has sought to rectify the mistakes and slights against her person, he has defended her honor when even Rhaegar did not say anything when Aerys scorned her and Deria for being too Dornish.

“I have placed a piece of my heart in your hands. I beseech you to not destroy it,” she begs him.

Elia is pulled back as Mehmed looks into her eyes, a frown on his face, “I am not the other boys who took what you gave and used it for their own purpose. I gave my vows and I am a man of my word and of action. Never doubt me, aşkım.”

The conversation seemed closed, as Elia sits in his lap and stares at him, as his hands trace up and down her spine, just as they do when they are in bed and their limbs are entangled. It is a comforting gesture and she relishes in it, her heart steadying to a pace that is peaceful and not as alarming as it had been just minutes before.

His hands make way with her cloak, discarding it next to them, before returning his hands to her gown, pulling away at the laces that tied it together.

“Mehmed?”

There are people walking around just outside their tent, though she knows their guards are also posted around their tent and that no one will enter unless they want their head removed, she is somewhat timid and also thrilled at the prospect.

Her face begins to brighten, startingly so, _Oberyn is rubbing off on me, more than I care to admit._ It seemed fitting that when they took their marital vows, they consummated it and now their exchange of love shall be consummated also.

At this prospect, her hands become eager just as they did that first night and every night since, frenzied in a way as she rubbed the water away from his skin, as her dress was bunched up around her waist before Mehmed pulled it from her and threw it to the wayside.

If there is one thing she truly enjoys during their acts of intimacy, it is when Mehmed is under her, as he leans back on the chaise, peering at her before grabbing her head and meeting his lips with her. The wine they tasted earlier gives their kisses a spice flavor that only pushed Elia further, as she begins to move slightly against the man she loves.

The word love is tossed around in her head as their tongues meet and she cannot help but feel that it is still inadequate, that it does not come out even to her calculations. She loves him yes, but there is still something more – something that she cannot put a name to no matter how hard she thinks about it.

“Stop thinking,” her husband interrupts her thoughts as he moves her quickly pushing her down onto the chaise, with himself between her legs. In the light of day, this feels lewder, as there is no darkness in the room with only a fire going to light of the path of their bodies as they explore one another.

Now in the daylight and out in the open, Elia finds herself blushing even more as she shifts minutely, almost trying to hide away, but she knows now that she cannot really hide herself, not from Mehmed. He sees too much with his perspicacious eyes, his ability to discern what troubles her at times is a blessing and a curse, but he does not waver as he bends his head down between her legs.

Her legs lay against his broad shoulders and she stares up into the air, where she drowns out the noise outside their tents, only listening to the sounds that she makes. Soft pants fill the air and she does what Mehmed told her to do, she stops thinking about the piece that has been given away, she stops thinking about the past, she ignores the shadows that always lurk in her mind.

She just stops and her eyes are closed when she begins to feel a familiar tightening in her groin, that seems to keep tightening when Mehmed plunges a finger inside of her, her back arches and then like a bow, she is released.

The world truly stopped, just for this small moment in time. 

Posted: 06/17/2020

Edited: 06/17/2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Still Dreaming" by Raveena was on repeat when I wrote this chapter. Seriously love her voice.
> 
> Mehmed said "I ain't them lil dudes you was messing with. Come fuck with a real G." and that's exactly what Elia did. LMAO


	21. Holy As the Sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Farewells takes place and promises are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title of this song was taken from 'Stronger' by Raveena.

The sept was warm enough, as the gold that filled it sparkled from the light that shone through the stained-glass ceiling. Years ago, when Elia had come to Casterly Rock for her mother to broker a marriage, she had been amazed by the sept here; however, now that awe is even more compounded.

 _Lannisters really do shit gold._ Elia chuckled softly to herself as she sat with her husband and studied her surroundings.

From the gold on the tapestries, to the gold altar and even the damn gold chandelier that hung, it was hard not to see that the Lannisters screamed wealth without even having brag about it, albeit they did it subtly with this being an open example.

Elia opted to match her husband’s attire, however this time his kaftan had large golden embroidery throughout, of wings and crescent moons instead of his usual totality of black. Elia’s own gown had a deep neckline, with two thin stretches of fabrics keeping her breast together, that went around the upper portion of her body just below her breast.

When she was younger, she lamented on how small her breasts are, but she’s found gowns that only accentuate and enhance her bodily features and beauty; she has long since learned how to work with what she’s been given. She wore two gold bangles, each having belong to her mother that had been worn by her own grandmother, Naelia Uller – who Elia herself had been named after.

Elia had two black suns in her ears, with gold snakes hanging from them, with one snake being attached to her nose ring. On her head had been the crown of flowers Mehmed had given her yesterday, but they had been dipped in wax to preserve them for a while longer.

As Elia sat next to her husband, his hand rested on her thigh which was partially hidden by her cloak but even if it could be publicly seen, she would not hide it. No, when her and Mehmed had returned to their rooms to bathe and head to the dancehall, Elia had not been able to keep a smile off her face. While she did not doubt that some people thought that her smiling was because of the crown, that was nothing but a minuscule aspect to what she felt stir in her heart.

The feeling of love, of _reciprocated_ love had almost been too much for her to handle. It was consuming, as though Elia had been dipped into fire, but she did not shy away from it but instead embraced and kissed it. As she watched the brother of her heart exchange vows, she closed her eyes and silently prayed that Jaime could experience this feeling too. Her prayers included her wish that his marriage also blossomed and that any children he creates with his wife they shall be born healthy and hale and Lady Denyse recovers well from the birthing bed.

Elia thinks that too many people pray for a son, or even a child to be born healthy but hardly any of those thoughts are spared to the wife or woman birthing them. Elia had been rattled by Deria’s birth, it had taken a lot of strength and fortitude she did not know she possessed, and it had been daunting to say the least. She does not regret it, only wishing she had not been pushed so quickly to get with child, so she could have ensured her health was stronger more suitable to childbirth.

Her thoughts carry her away as she thinks about children, for Elia knows for a fact that she wants more. She had wanted two daughters and two sons, but all she had was one daughter and a dead son gone too quickly. She shakes her head softly, feeling guilty at wanting more, in a sept no less when she is thankful for what she has.

_Never ask the gods for more, or else they will surely burden you with more than you can handle._

Mehmed’s fingers have been an anchor as she leaves her thoughts where they are now, clapping her hands as the newly wedded couple seal their vows with a kiss.

On the morrow, they shall be leaving to sail back to Dorne, and Elia can feel the slight pressure to see things off right. Before she leaves she shall be speaking to Rhaella and Viserys and Elia had even attempted to write down her words, but when she thinks about yesterday and how she spoke freely – she decides its better to simply speak from the heart and let her words flow as easily as ink on parchment.

The hour drags on when they leave the sept, and though Mehmed has not said anything she can feel how antsy he is to return to Dorne, so that they can begin their voyage to Essos. While the trip would normally be two moons, Mehmed has carved out time for Elia to visit the Rhoyne as she has always wanted to do. While the week here in the west had been short, even for Elia it seemed to drag on and now that she has her husband’s love and affection, she is eager for a new chapter in life.

* * *

Elia had taken so much time in the preparation for Jaime’s wedding gifts, now that she is able to present them, she has to stop herself from tittering on one feet to the other as though she is a child in order to stifle her excitement.

The Lannisters no doubt will receive plenty of gifts, but she doubts that the gifts will really be sentimental not like hers will be. Both gifts represent Jaime to her, and when Mehmed and her are called upon, five of their guards walked behind them, with one holding the tapestry while another held the sword that had been forged.

Before Elia speaks, she takes the time to study her friend’s face, worry lines have disappeared and his face is no longer gaunt from their time as hostage. Even his hair sparkles like the finest gold and his smile threatens that of the sun. A sigh of relief escapes her, and her shoulders relax even further, happy with the fact that Jaime is satisfied with his bride and appears to get along with her.

Both Mehmed and her had discussed how they would present the gifts and her husband had been all too happy to give her this opportunity to express her thanks. The joy she felt that Mehmed did not have any jealously regarding her friendship with Jaime was a great relief. Even Ashara had asked Elia if she had not taken Mehmed as a husband, would she had tried again with Princess Loreza’s and Lady Joanna’s wish of their children being married and finally joining their houses together.

It had shocked Elia and when Elia mentioned it to Mehmed he had laughed. Her husband understood how some friendships began at birth while others began through hardships. Mehmed’s closest friend, Zaganos descended from slaves from Volantis who had sought freedom in Moraq just generations ago. Their friendship had been based on the genuine love of Moraqi philosophy and the art of warfare. When Mehmed was brought down by his nemesis, it was not just his mother and sister who had been in his corner but also his friend, a man he considers a brother.

To know her husband understood the gratitude Elia felt for Jaime was a blessing and when they stood before Jaime and Denyse, she hardly spared anyone else a glance as she began to speak.

“Lord Jaime, it pleases me beyond measure to see you and your bride so happy on this joyous day. I pray to all my gods, that your marriage is as happy as my own is. My husband and I wish you both health and longevity.”

Nothing was wrong with wanting Jaime, who before had walked with such long strides for his own sister, to feel loved. Genuine love that did not come from a sister’s jealousy that her brother could pick up a blade and she couldn’t.

Elia snapped her fingers and she could hear the shuffling of the guards behind her as they made their way around the grand table, Elia had not noticed that the Royals had been seated closer to the Lannisters but she knew it made sense, for the Hightowers were Denyse’s family and Lord Tywin wanted to show everyone he had the Royals in his pocket. Elia and her party had sat next to the Hightowers while the Tyrells next to the Royals, lest barbs be exchanged, and the wedding feast be ruined.

“Our first gift to you, is a tapestry that has been finely crafted and embroidered, by myself and my ladies.”

The hall grew silent as the guards began unrolling the tapestry, each guard taking steps back as the tapestry was shown.

It had taken a lot of pain in not just Elia’s own fingers – but also her ladies – to create this tapestry. Silks from YiTi and Myr were used, the finest dye that the Shadowlands produced along with using actual gold thread. While the gold thread did not consist entirely of gold, else the material would not be able to be embroidered and threaded, there was enough gold to depict a glorious picture.

It was the way Elia saw her champion, her Golden Knight, her golden brother that had become a second flame in the darkness of her life in the Red Keep.

It was of a golden lion, with a large mane that seemed to ripple as though wind coursed through it, on top of a grassy cliff, with deep emeralds for eyes and its mouth bearing it jaws as though to roar. The lion was swift, deadly and its emerald stitched eyes peered out from the tapestry as though it was in movement. When Elia first began forming this tapestry in mind, she remembered the tapestry she saw for Lord Tywin as a child, it was of a lion standing on a rock peering down at a flooded plain. One did not need to think hard on what that tapestry depicted, but Elia did not want Jaime’s tapestry to show him standing over his enemies, but standing on a grassy plain on a rock, Casterly Rock as it looked out over its domain instead.

The sun in the upper corner of the tapestry had been a blend of red, orange, and yellow silks, with different hues incorporated with detail to enhance the beauty of the tapestry. Elia had not been able to travel growing up but the tapestry of Norvos and the silks of Myr always fascinated her. She was much obliged to finally use some of her favorite knowledge for a good deed to someone she held so close to her heart.

Elia watched as Jaime seemed to be at a loss for words, even Lord Tywin leaned forward from his seat to look at the craftsmanship in front of them. The second gift came right on the heels of the first one, Mehmed snapping his fingers this time as a sheathed sword was placed in his hands, he motioned for Jaime to come forward.

Mehmed had shown her the finish product of the sword and she had been happy to give instruction on the hilt of the sword. Just like the tapestry, it was a golden lion with a mane, with emerald eyes, so feline like; the scabbard itself was red, with gold at the locket and chape.

“The second gift is a sword, for you and your descendants. At a time of uncertainty, I watched as you were conflicted with your vows as a knight and vows as a Kingsguard. In the end, it was your vows as a knight that won out and for that, you shall always have my gratitude. When you were knighted you were charged to be brave, to be just, to protect the young and innocent, to protect all women…” her voice trails off softly, as she sees the brief flash of pain in Jaime’s eyes.

Jaime has confided in her that his biggest mistake was his inability to do anything for Queen Rhaella, at having to be there when Aerys visited her chambers and being forced to listen to her cries of mercy while he did nothing.

“So many vows, so many oaths that conflicted but even though you stumbled, you found a way, you held true to your truth. I should hope that if there is another lady or princess in distress, you will raise your sword in their defense as you have done for me.”

At this, Mehmed placed the scabbard in Jaime’s awaiting hands and it felt like the whole hall took a breath as he slowly withdrew the sword from its scabbard.

Elia could hear some gasps and her smile only grew, not a smug look but a look of being pleased at the expression on her dear friend’s face.

The sword itself was made of siyah, it gleamed as though it had been dipped in ink. From the hilt to the point, the blade sung as it was pulled from the scabbard – it was a beautiful sound to be heard throughout the hall.

While the blade was made from the Moraqi rare metal, Mehmed had the blade fashioned in the Westerosi fashion, long and deadly, with the point of the sword appearing almost like a fang. Jaime held the sword in the air, the scabbard had been placed on the table behind him, not caring about the food on the table as he held the sword in front of him, inspecting it.

“My wife has told me of House Lannister’s lost ancestral sword, though Valyrian steel is rare enough, the metal that this sword is forge is also hold true. Though you must be sure to shed some blood on it and keep it from being dull. Swords made from siyah sing for the blood of your enemies, it is best that you heed that, Ser Jaime.”

There is a lot of mysticism surrounding Great Moraq, from their gods to even their priests and temples. Mehmed has told her of how every man he has killed, of every enemy that crossed his path, his sword has bathed in their blood. To Elia, Mehmed speaks as though his sword is personified, as though it has a mind of its own and is not simply an added ligament to his body as he fights. But then again, Elia _has_ seen the way her husband fight, his sword is like an extension of his body, the same way Oberyn’s spear is – the same way her own father had treated his spear and sword, mayhaps it is the way of true warriors.

It had been Denyse question that brought Elia’s attention away from the sword and Jaime as she called out, “Jaime, what will you call it?”

It had only been the slight tightening of his shoulders that Elia caught but it was there all the same as he looked at her in the eyes, unwavering and unblinking as he answered, “Oathkeeper.”

“A fine name, for a fine sword,” Lord Tywin spoke though he eyed the sword with intrigued. No doubt, eager to see the sword up close for himself, especially if it’s supposed to be a replacement for Brightroar, the lost fabled sword of House Lannister.

“I agree Lord Tywin, a fine name for a fine sword for a fine knight,” Mehmed spoke, and Elia saw the glance her husband shared with the Old Lion of the Rock. Elia could only hope that whatever communication they had would not cause Dorne trouble.

It was easy enough for Elia and Mehmed to retake their seats next to Oberyn and Jade who had been conversing with themselves throughout the time that they had been up presenting gifts. While the tapestry had been for Jaime, the sword for himself and his descendants, Elia made sure to gifts bolts of silks and fabrics, all fine and costly for Lady Denyse to create gowns for herself and any children that she shall bear.

Elia watched on in boredom as other lords and ladies presented gifts, but as she had speculated, they were all superficial in some way – in the attempt to earn favor. Though Jaime is smart enough to not be bought, not after they both saw how nobles had laughed with Aerys then turned around and feared him.

It would disgust Elia if she had ever laughed with Aerys, while she tried to assimilate in King’s Landing and Dragonstone as best as she could, she had never debased herself by trying to make Aerys favor her.

_He wanted me as a good daughter for the Valyrian blood in my veins, I did not ask for him nor his son._

Some days, Elia wished she could scrub away Daenerys Targaryen’s blood from her body. To let the blood of the Rhoynar flow freely without the taint that the Targaryens carried, though she loved Rhaella and Viserys, the price Elia paid for her ancestress’ blood was not worth it. It never would be.

The hours pass quickly, with more couples getting up from their seats to dance and Elia was happy to oblige her husband as he guided them to the dance floor. It was easy enough to fall into step with her husband, with one of his hands resting on the curve of her back while the other held her hand. The music was festive as was the mood in its entirety, yet as the song for the dance dwindles a new song begins to play. Its tune is familiar, and Elia’s eyes immediately catch Mehmed’s as his give nothing away.

“The wind blew in the south,

A howl could be heard from a wolf’s mouth.

Panting under the Dornish sun,

A lone tower stood in the deserts of Dorne.

Two wolves searched but they found naught,

Blood spilled in court for a childish want.

It was not just the howls and pants of the wolf,

But also, of the realm in which blood had been spilt.

Even then, the wolf was the loudest,

Trespassing against those, who could not be doubted.

The wolf was idle in heat,

Wet behind its ears and wet between its teats.

The wind blew in the south,

A howl could be heard from a wolf’s mouth.

Now instead of panting under the Dornish sun,

The wolf stands too close to the throne.

A wolf in heat, trying to bare its teeth.

Little does it know,

It is nothing more than a bitch in heat.

Attempting to scare foes, who wish for what they are owed.

The wind blew in the south,

A gilded wolf, snarling at the mouth.

A wolf in heat, panting on the throne.

How idle it stands, the howling wolf alone.

Elia looked around the room while still gathered in Mehmed’s arms, Rhaegar looked angered while his queen looked as though she been kicked on her arse.

“Such a lovely tune, I had been curious about the song,” Mehmed spoke softly in her ear.

While they had stopped dancing, his hand remained on the curve of her back and her hand that was still being held by his, clenched his for comfort. As Elia looked around, she took in the faces of the lords of the realm who attended this tourney in wedding.

Lord Bolton did not look distressed at his lord paramount’s sister being spoken ill of, though he was currently standing near her own brother as they spoke in whispers with Jade joining every now and then. Rhaella had been dancing with Lord Lucerys, both of whom did not show any insult and Elia wondered what _that_ meant, because surely even Rhaella would take offense. But then she shook her head deciding most likely than not, Rhaella would not likely care. Not when she had two young children to tend to and could no longer concern herself with Rhaegar and the mess he made when he stole away the wolf girl.

Lord Tywin looked cold but that was most likely because the song hadn’t been the ‘Rains of Castamere’ but a bard and dig at the new queen. Jaime did not seem disturbed, but it made no difference as his friend, Ser Addam called out for the bedding ceremony.

Elia frowned in distaste, she hated her own bedding ceremony and was thankful Oberyn had snuck away to the capital to see her wedded, to help her uncle Lewyn shield her from lewd eyes and touches. In Dorne, there was no bedding ceremony, while Dornish embraced their Rhoynar heritage of free love, one did not need to be stripped in front of others to do so.

Elia watched as Denyse Lannister neé Hightower moved through the crowd, her brother Baelor shielding her from the worst of those who were grabby and even Jaime moved deftly through the crowd. While her friend was a married man now, he was handsome with a smile that cut like a knife that would bring many women down to their knees if he so wished it.

While the bedding ceremony turned into a distraction, Elia notice the bard sneak off and Mehmed waving a hand to his guards, which she then saw one of the guards throw the bard a pouch of coins.

“You cannot _correct_ everyone who did me wrong, my love,” she spoke softly to him. Given the example his own father set with how courtiers and nobles alike were to treat his mother, she is not surprised that Mehmed is seeking to rectify all slights done to her. Only Elia fears he shall be consumed by such a task, so instead of commenting further she simply squeezes the hand in her reach, wishing to retire for the evening.

“That does not mean that I cannot try. Though you must admit, it is a catchy song,” his words are a whisper against her ear.

Elia nods her head in agreeance, for she will give credit to where it is due, and the bard did have a lovely voice. She hopes the barb can keep away from the court of King’s Landing, lest Rhaegar be like his father and begin burning those who speak ill about him.

“You know, between the two of us, you are not the only one who has fucked a Valyrian. Believe me my dear, once you fuck one silver haired seedling, you’ve fucked them all. Lys was crawling with the lot of them.” Mehmed shrugged his shoulders as his fingers on her back begin to trail up and down as they do in bed.

Elia lets out a laugh, which gets some attention as she raises a hand to cover her face, before burying her face in his kaftan, inhaling the spiced scent she has become so familiar and intimate with.

“Come let us retire, I see now I cannot be out in public with you, for the mess you make.”

Lady Mara spoke about Mehmed’s father, how he preferred to joke and be at peace than ruling and though her husband has a wicked sense of humor – she does not doubt that Lady Mara’s sharp tongue has been as much an influence on Mehmed’s humor as his father’s.

“As you wish, my love.” She can hear the smugness in his words, and she is sure her husband did not miss the way she preened at his words.

“Yes, tomorrow shall be long day as we head back to Dorne, let’s not idle here any longer.”

Elia had been so caught up in her conversation that she did not even bother wrangling Oberyn and Jade to follow, wanting nothing more than to lay in bed for the night as she prepared for the morning ahead of her. While her husband had done a good job at making her laugh, she was still consumed by worry about how her conversation with Rhaella and Viserys will go. So many words and regrets to be expressed, it was out of their power now to go back in time to rectify those transgressions before they could be made.

 _There will always be regrets, I cannot lament on them forever,_ is all she says to herself as Mehmed leads her out of the hall. The quietness is a welcome reprieve as her arm is tucked in Mehmed’s side and she leans into him, feeling more tired after this week of bustling activity.

* * *

When they sailed for the tourney and wedding, they packed many things, especially since the ship they took was Mehmed’s personal one that they would be voyaging in back to Essos. The items that had been packed away from her chambers in Dorne had been brought to the ship before they left, so that when they did return to Dorne it would not take long for the rest of Elia’s belongings to be placed on the ship also.

Jaime had been kind enough to lend Rhaella and herself his personal solar, away from prying eyes. To others it would look like Elia would be holding a conversation with Jaime or Rhaella speaking words to one of her favorite ladies-in-waiting son.

It was Elia who had arrived early, she had on a traveling gown, as Mehmed was busy speaking to his guards, he had instructed to her to dress in her traveling gowns as from Jaime’s solar would she be leaving Casterly Rock.

Elia had been able to get to Jaime’s solar with ease and she sat down on the available chaise, as she gathered her thoughts. Her fingers brushing over her red dress, as her cloak clung to her figure to keep her warm, though it was not needed as Jaime had been kind enough to have servants tend a fire in the hearth.

Her eyes settled on the flame in the hearth when she heard the door open and a shuffle of feet made their way quickly inside the room.

Turning around she was met with familiar amethysts eyes, Rhaella’s eyes had always been kind, mournful when she suffered under Aerys but kind when she held Deria and spoke in the night with Elia when Aerys left her alone.

“Your Grace,” Elia and Rhaella both spoke at the same time and Elia could only laugh softly. Jaime had remained outside, and she knew that he was most likely going to fetch Viserys from wherever he was with the little master Tyrion.

Elia had felt herself get shy, before she leaned forward and grabbed Rhaella’s hand, soft and comforting as they always been and pulled her down onto the chaise.

“I would ask how you have been, but I can see it from your appearance that you are thriving.” Rhaella’s voice is a balm to the scars on her heart, though it has been sewn back together, this kind of balm from a loving woman such as her former good mother, still heals.

“Yes, Mehmed is very good to me, to me and Deria – too good even. If I had known what to ask for when looking for a betrothal, I would have told my mother to turn her eyes east, but alas it matters not. We are a good match, though not a love match at first, we’ve found ourselves in it now.”

It felt good to admit her love to Mehmed to someone else, for it felt like a victory. That Elia had someone who loved her in the capacity that she loved them. She was not the jilted wife, who could not win her husband’s affection nor love.

_It was a hard-won victory indeed._

“I am glad to hear that, truly I am. More than that, I wish to apologize, on behalf of House Targaryen. It was cruel for Aerys to recall you back from Dragonstone, crueler for Rhaegar to take that cruel and bastardized little Rha- Deria, excuse me, and name his son after the one you miscarried. I do not know where I went wrong with my eldest. I do not know,” Rhaella’s voice seems broken at the end and just like Elia used to do, her hand settles on top of Rhaella’s in her lap, offering up free comfort and understanding.

Though the apology was nice, it was not the apology she wanted, not from Rhaella who did her no wrong. Who held Deria as a babe when Aerys could not even deign to get down from his throne to hold his first grandchild but instead sneer at her. Rhaella and Elia had been mother and daughter, soaking up one another’s warmth in affection for comfort and emotional nourishment that they did not get from their husbands.

“You need not apologize, Rhaella, those are not your sins to bear. You were a great comfort to me, and I shall always remember that.” Elia lifts her index finger to her head, tapping against it softly.

“My son shall be fostered here under Lord Jaime when he turns ten. He shall be given Castamere once Lord Tywin has it drained. He will also be marrying the first-born daughter of Lord Jaime and Lady Denyse.”

Rhaella’s words bring Elia up short as her hands close tighter around hers in understanding.

_Damn you Rhaegar! Do you not see how far reaching your actions have cost and will cost this realm?_

“Oh,” Elia struggles to find the rest of her words, when she doesn’t, Rhaella continues, “my daughter shall marry Lord Lucerys son, Baelon when she six and ten.”

A deep sigh is drawn from Elia as she leans back against the chaise, licking her lips in thought.

“I understand, Rhaella. I do.” Had Elia not done the same thing to secure Deria legitimacy?

“I had hope you would, these next few decades will be a trial and very dangerous. I cannot fathom it, not when I grew up with it but the idea of a Blackfyre on the Iron Throne? No, that cannot happen. Aegon is sweet enough but he is what _they_ made him, and I cannot in good conscious allow it.”

Elia can see Rhaella is heart broken over this matter, oh what she would have given to been a fly on the fly or even a rat in a corner to hear the conversation that happened between Lord Tywin, Jaime, Lord Lucerys and Rhaella. Three of those people had lived during the War of the Ninepenny Kings, two of them even fighting in it. What it must be like for them to see this threat now, a threat that will only destabilize the throne should Rhaegar die before Viserys has been trained up and taught the lessons that Rhaegar failed to heed.

“It shall be alright Rhaella, we have made it out of this war by the grace of the gods and the quick wit that we have been graced with. I trust Ser Jaime and know he shall ensure that Viserys will be brought up correctly, that he will not be either of _them_. Do not fear.”

Rhaella sniffled a bit, using handkerchief to wipe away at her tears of frustration, “I had never thought my baby boy to be king,” she whispered harshly.

_No, but who would want their child to sit on that throne that seems to taint good and bad kings alike?_

“Do not fret, you and I both know that with the promise of Lord Tywin granddaughter being married to Viserys, the Old Lion shall ensure that the road to the throne is nicely paved. You did good by securing this alliance, Lord Lucerys and Lord Tywin both are notable people with high prestige. With them backing Viserys, along with the gold of the west behind him, half the work will be done for your son.”

Rhaella nods her head in understanding, Elia knowing these are probably the same words Rhaella told herself in comfort at the decision she made. _How harrowing_ , Elia thinks to choose one child over the other but Rhaegar has left Rhaella no choice.

If that child from the wolf girl takes the throne, over Viserys or even Daenerys, legitimate children from a lawful marriage, there is no telling how the realm will react. Bastards outside of Dorne are not treated well, this will be a catalyst that will mirror Elia’s own dilemma of a mistress usurping the rightful lady.

_Oh Rhaegar, the seeds for another war have already been planted, growing in the ashes of the first one and I bet you do not even realize it._

“How is my darling girl? I miss her terribly as does Balerion although Viserys spoils him rotten enough.”

At this, Elia can smile easily as she thinks about her little sun, “she grows hale and strong. The greatest gift I have ever been given, my little girl. Too smart and inquisitive but Mehmed says she will thrive in Moraq, there are plenty of cousins her age to get into trouble with.”

Elia had been worried with Deria being separated from her cousins, but her daughter is friendly enough as she made quick friends with everyone in the Water Gardens when they had stayed there.

“That is good, I am so happy to hear that. I hope that it will not be too much to ask, that when you write to Lord Jaime you can also send a letter or so about Deria and yourself?”

It would be too much of a risk for Elia to send messages to Dragonstone but sending a bonus letter through Jaime would not be too much of a hassle, “I shall, if Jaime agrees to it.”

Rhaella guffawed at that, a sound so foreign to Elia that she had to join in, their laughing mixing with one another. Elia knew Jaime would agree to it, simply because she is Elia and he is Jaime, not to mention with Viserys soon be fostered here, Viserys will also know about his favorite niece – well just cousin now and what she has been doing so far away from Westeros.

At the sound of their laughter, the door opens and this time it is of a little boy, with eyes bright and fervent as he runs straight towards Elia with his arms out. Elia opens hers in turn and hugs the child close to her, running a hand over his head as she used to do.

Viserys pulls back just a bit to stare up at Elia, a smile gracing her face as she combs her hand through his hair and he leans back, burrowing against her gown.

Rhaella and Jaime sit in the room, as it is quiet outside of the soft sniffling of Viserys.

“Mother told me you went away, I know.” Elia looks up and meets Rhaella’s gaze who nods her head solemnly. Elia sighs as resumes combing Viserys head, pulling the boy into her lap though he is much heavier than she remembered.

“Oh, my sweet boy, you have gotten so big,” olive toned hands reach out to wipe away the boy’s tears. She cups his face and Viserys seems to melt in her embrace, “you shall get bigger yet.”

Viserys already has the making of a lithe body, along with a tall frame and she couldn’t help but kiss his forehead as she held the child closer to her, enjoying the warmth of his body next to hers.

“You are no longer my sister,” Viserys appears broken at the prospect and Elia sees tears begin to well in the corner of his eyes again.

“Do not cry for me, little cousin. We still share the blood of Aegon the Conqueror.” Elia placed another kiss to his forehead and then both his cheeks, as she watched some of those tears fall before the prince eagerly wiped them away.

“I miss you and I miss Deria. Mother same you renamed her, I am glad. Rhaenys had been shot down from the sky, I do not want Deria to be shot by some arrow.” Viserys seemed angry at the very thought and Elia could only laugh, _how could a boy so young see the sense in that but not Rhaegar?_

_Already he shall make a better prince then his elder brother._

Elia’s throat clenches when she hears a knock on the door, it is distinct knock that she had Daedra remember for when the time neared for Elia to leave.

“I must be going soon, but do not cry for me little dragon, for I am happy and whole. Hmmm…but before I leave, I need some assurances from you. Can you do that for me?”

Viserys climbed down from her lap and Elia lifted herself from the chaise and kneeled, not caring about kneeling on the rug but liking that she was eye-level with Viserys.

“In two years you shall be living here, with Ser Jaime and master Tyrion, I want your word that you shall heed Ser Jaime’s word, that you will be a good student and squire and that if Ser Jaime writes me and tells me of your misbehavior I shall be very sad indeed.”

Elia watches as Viserys face become solemn as he nods his head in understanding before saying, “I understand.”

“You shall marry someday; I want a promise that you will treat your intended and wife with respect; that you will listen to her words and advice and take them into council. That you will not neglect her nor the children you share.”

These are the words that should have been spoken to Rhaegar, though she is sure that Rhaella tried to speak sense into her eldest son, it matters not, not now.

“I promise,” the little prince voice is hard though his face is the opposite – his lips wobbling just a bit.

“As a prince you have a duty to this realm, to uphold the laws of gods and men. You must do your utmost to adhere to them. I have no doubt that you shall become a knight, finer even than Aemon the Dragonknight, son of your namesake, Viserys the II. You must strive to be dutiful like Viserys the II, you must be astute in your duties as prince.”

It saddens her, the boy before her will be killed just as Elia had to kill the former version of herself for a newer and better version to born. Elia sucks in a breath, as she uses her finger to gently lift up Viserys’ face.

“This world is cruel, but do not forsake yourself and fall to the wayside. Even when this world knocks you down, even when people whisper behind your back – you must still stand tall and rise. You are a dragon, you must learn how to balance the fire and blood within you, do not let it consume you like it has consumed others. Please?”

Elia pulls the boy toward her as another knock could be heard and she clutches the child harder, her face crumbling and she rubs Viserys’ back as he hugs her back.

Her sweet boy, “do not cry, you must be a good prince. I expect to hear great things about you.”

“I promise, I’ll learn everything I can and be a good prince. I’ll protect mother and Dany and Balerion. I’ll protect everyone, I swear.” Viserys seemed almost hysterical in his words as his fingers tightened around Elia’s hair and gown, not that she minded.

Elia nods her head, biting her lips before placing one final kiss on top of his forehead, lingering just a bit, before she pulled away. Elia felt as though she would cry, but she did not want to distress the boy any further.

Elia turns and looks at Ser Jaime, “I do not care how long it takes for letters to arrive in Moraq, but I wish to stay informed of Viserys’ progress. Send the letters to Dorne and they shall make their way to Mellario’s family in Norvos before arriving in Moraq.”

It would be the same system Doran used when making their betrothals, using Mellario’s parents manse as a brief stop in between Dorne and Moraq for news and letters to be traded.

“Of course,” even Jaime looks sad and the air in the solar is a somber thing. Elia does not know the next time she will see her golden brother, nor Rhaella or Viserys, not for some time. Elia and Mehmed will have to settle into Moraq and while Mehmed has a head start on his rule, Elia will have to contribute to their reign.

The goodbye was a bittersweet thing, as Elia hugged Rhaella once again before hugging Jaime, thanking him once again and kissing him on his cheek.

The journey down to Lannisport was not long, not like how it was when they ascended towards Casterly Rock when Elia first arrived. Elia walked with Ser Jaime, with her guards following with a mixture of her own, as Mehmed had relayed that he’d be down at the docks overseeing the map with the ship’s captain. Oberyn was lounging on against a railing on the deck and waved down to Elia as she neared the ship to begin to board.

“I guess this is goodbye, at least for now.” Jaime stands next to her, his hair flowing gently in the winter wind, as does Elia’s own.

“For now, yes. Should you wish to bring your bride to Moraq, you know you are always welcome, even master Tyrion. I shall be sure to send books from the far east, I know how much he is interested in dragons. Mehmed mentioned in Asshai that there were sea dragons that roamed the Stygai. There are many books about such things, I shall send them off once I return to Dorne.”

At this Jaime laughs softly, his laughter carrying in the wind as he helps Elia board the ship with Mehmed waiting just above them.

“Take care of her, Your Grace.” His voice does not carry a threat, but it is a command from a lord to a sultan. From a brother to the man who has wedded his sister and it warms Elia heart to know she has been given two brothers by blood and another by friendship and war.

“Of course, my lord.” Mehmed looks down coyly at them, but he is serious as even Oberyn joined him in waiting.

“This is where we go our separates ways for now Jaime. I think our mothers are very pleased to know that we have become friends, I know your mother is proud of you Jaime. You have done well and will continue to do so.”

With parting words, she kisses his cheek, smiling gently before reaching out her hand to her husband, as one hand leaves Jaime’s while the other’s is joined by Mehmed’s.

“Did you finish what you set out to do?” Mehmed asks her once the anchor has been drawn up and the captain shouts out commands to the crew in Moraqi. Elia leans on a rail, looking at the rising sun as water crashes against the ship as they begin to sail away from Lannisport. “Yes,” is all she says as Mehmed stands behind her, engulfing her with a warm embrace as they watch the waves together.

Posted: 06/23/2020

Edited: 06/23/2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Viserys redemption because it's not too late to save him, along with Cersei. Getting these two in a healthy environment because fuck they need it lmao.


	22. Bonds Formed By Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we all find out that Doran is a mother hen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon? Don't know her and ain't seen her. Headcanon? Doran is a mother hen and you can't tell me different.  
> This update came late but I've been reading Naruto fanfic and I literally got triggered on how I slowly began hating Naruto cause Kishimoto is trash and can't write women and CHILD SOLDIERS JESUS CHRIST. Like there is nothing worse then being older and going back to some of your favorite reads and being like "holy shit, what the fuck is going on" lol but yeah here ya go.

Oddly enough, the palace was quiet and not in an eerie way but something akin to comforting. Their arrival back to Sunspear had been quick and swift, Mehmed had taken over fully with having their belongings put on ships, mapping out their voyage while he spent time with his sister and mother as Elia did the same with her brothers.

Even now, sitting in The Ruling Prince of Dorne’s solar, does she feel as though she is a child again, as she sits in front of Doran over a game of cyvasse. The balcony doors are open, allowing for a cool breeze to drift in and mingle with the warmth that the hearth is giving away. Small crackles from the wood can be heard and it soothed Elia as she moved a heavy horse piece to the right.

Elia and Doran need not speak, especially since Oberyn was taking a nap on the chaise just a little from them. Elia and Doran set up the board and its pieces when Oberyn had walked in, looked at them both and then taken to the chaise and began to sleep in peace. Doran had told her before Oberyn arrived, that their brother had been galivanting down by the aqueducts to make sure everything was in order, when Oberyn fell asleep she wasn’t surprised to see him so tired.

The children were either with Mellario or with Lady Mara, Jade and Mehmed, with this time being reserved for the Martell siblings, when one was sailing off on the morrow. Truly the only sounds that can be heard is the crackling in the hearth, the gentle breeze in the wind, the snores of their baby brother and the pieces of cyvasse that are laid lightly on the board.

Once again, Elia is striked blind at the simplicity of it all, for that has always been her favorite. On rare days such as this when the palace is quiet, when it seems like everyone just wants to rest and take a breath – away from it all – even if for a moment. These days were rare growing up, but she had some of them all the same.

Doran had been the one to teach her this game, as he was also the one who taught her many lessons in life, lessons that could not be given by their mama and papa. One dead before his time truly, and another who became hardened after her love had been snatched from her. Doran had been the one, to teach her patience, to look at everything on the board and plan. To implement a strategy and tactic to the game and not make foolhardy decisions.

Looking back on it, when Elia had sought comfort in the gods when she was under Aerys’ cruel hands, she prayed for her elder’s brother’s silent strength and discernment, trying to find a way to keep not just herself safe but also Deria. Elia knows which brother to lean on depending on the situation, for that is how its always been. One brother, silent with his anger while the other is explosive but deadly all the same.

They sit in peace, as they both stare down at the board and Elia is reminded as to why she loves playing more with Doran than Oberyn. Doran is such a thinker, Oberyn used to tease and say ‘you think too much, brother’ but mayhaps that is why the gods saw fit to have Doran as the firstborn. Because, for all the while Oberyn is perceptive, smart, and dangerously graceful, it is Doran who at times seems more dangerous than their baby brother with a deadly moniker.

It had been Doran who had taken up his duty when their father passed, while this is nothing new for many heirs do this, Doran did it for three moons, _alone._ Their mother had taken time away, only seeing to family, but her resolve had fallen – however temporarily – and it had been Doran who reached forward and cradled that duty with extreme care and caution. Doran who had longer with their parents, who squired with their own lord uncle and saw the way duty should be performed, and he did it without complaint.

Elia knows the way others see Dorne, that they are all snakes, but it is their belief that the Martells are worse, that they _are_ vipers though their sigil is the sun and spear. Before Elia knew better she had taken insult, because she was not yet use to the disdain that the rest of the kingdoms looked at Dorne with, too young to understand fully the prejudice others had against her culture; against Dorne’s belief that a daughter should inherit, that bastards should not be scorned, that there is a proud history to be learned of her homeland.

Dorne could have all the lords and ladies of her noble houses stuck in one room, each lord or lady with a dagger at each other’s throat, just as their history is written with all the internal Dornish conflict. But alas, let another man walk in from another kingdom in that room, then all rivalry is forgotten between fellow Dornishmen and women and those daggers are posed at the intruder.

That is the history of Dorne.

_We may kill each other, but we won’t stand for others doing the job._

Her thoughts then drift to a distant memory that she recalls when she was with her mother in this very same solar. It was after Elia had recovered from a cold, though her body was still achy, she felt well enough to sit with her mother as she attended to her own duties. Doran had returned home from Salt Shore just the night before, after being knighted by their uncle and had stayed with Elia in her rooms, reading with her as she laid in her bed, drifting in and out of sleep before succumbing listening to her brother’s voice. Their mother and even their uncle Eric had told Elia how when she was born, Doran feared that she too would die just as their two brothers did before her, her being born prematurely certainly didn’t help his confidence either.

But she lived, and their mother had told Elia how afraid Doran had been, to pick up his sister and love her. Out of fear that should he leave again, he would get back word that his newest sibling was dead just as it had happened when he received word about Mors and Olyvar when he was at Salt Shore, visiting their uncle and grandmother.

Elia watches as Doran moves his ivory trebuchet piece forward three spaces. _Hm._ Elia moves her onyx catapult left two spaces, creating a deadlock between Doran’s piece and her own, with her jade king, resting where it sat since the beginning of the game. Their game is a game of wit and tactics, which is why Oberyn watched for awhile before opting for a nap, there is no telling how long this game will go on but neither of them are in a rush to complete it. They have tea and wine, with fruit, cheese and even yogurt, they have all they need really to keep themselves entertained.

Elia takes a glance at her king and dragon, before sneaking a glance at her elder brother whose eyes remain on the board, _always on the board,_ she thinks softly to herself.

Within a brief moment she feels warmth engulf her chest and her throat tightens as she stares down at the king and dragon pieces again, as she looks at her brother’s catapult that stands next to the trebuchet he moved earlier. She cannot help but see the wicked correlation, as she ponders her brother once more.

She wonders what it must have been like for Doran to receive that letter from Aerys, with Aerys’ demand for Dornish spears, for a war that was of the Targaryens own making, but Dorne had to be called because Elia had been married into that damned house. Growing up, Doran had kept not just her secrets but also Oberyn’s; the way they would go to Doran’s solar and sit around, sometimes Elia and Oberyn even taking naps on Doran’s chaise as he worked. They did not know why then, but Elia can recall the way she fell into her brother’s embrace when she returned to Dorne. The way Doran had wrapped his arms around her, and Elia had wept, finally being able to take a breath without the fear of a knife in her back or a sword at her neck.

_He always makes us feel safe._

Even as she takes a quick glimpse at Oberyn who is softly snoring, she cannot help but smile to herself because she cannot count how many times Elia simply went to Doran’s solar growing up to sleep, for no other reason because she knew he wouldn’t kick her out; and when she would wake there would be water and food waiting for her.

 _He’s always taken care of us._ Her lips are pouty and full, and she pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth as she moved a rabble piece, before going back to her thoughts. Her thoughts going back to the decision her brother made in her defense, ten thousand lives, in exchange for two. She lets out a soft trembling breath, her heart beating a bit more loudly – at least in her ears – as she steadies her breath and keeps her hand from fiddling with the bracelet on her wrist or the pearl ring on her finger.

Elia muses if this is what Doran did when he received that letter, a letter of subtle threat that should Dorne not provide the crown with its spears, a sword will be held and swung upon Elia’s and Deria’s necks. She vehemently hates that Aerys and Rhaegar put her brother in such a position, that Rhaegar had asked this burden from Doran knowing that he himself held his mistress safely away with members of the Kingsguard, in Dorne. _With Arthur_ , a dangerous voice whispers in her ear as her fingers jilt slightly over a spearman piece.

She takes a deep breath, more breath than what she truly needs but she needs it all the same as she briefly closes her eyes and releases it.

“Something wrong, Elia?” Doran is staring at her, noting the tightness in her own shoulders and she shies away because she doesn’t want to think about _them_ on her last night in the palace, in her home.

“Hn. Just thinking, Doran, that’s all,” she states as she releases the tension from her shoulders.

Though Elia has grown to become a good liar, she was never good at lying to Doran, whose eyes are just at pit less as her own but hold a deeper understanding than her own. She chuckles softly because for all the times Doran has caught her and Oberyn pulling pranks and causing mischief, he would simply turn a blind eye and never saying anything when their mother asked him of the truth. It was only when their mother or father found out for themselves did Doran ever comment on it, but he never willingly tattled on them. _Though now he seems very eager to share stories with my husband._

“Thinking about the game, or the Game?” Doran paused to take a sip of his black tea, she could hear him hum softly to herself and Elia relaxes and smiles a little more. _If only mother had access to Moraq’s black tea, mayhaps Oberyn wouldn’t have stressed her so._

Elia can hear the differentiation between both words, and she shrugs her shoulder before moving her crossbowmen piece in response to Doran moving his own.

“Both,” seeing no point in trying to lie to her brother.

“Do explain.” At that moment Elia feels like a child again when she sat with Doran who taught her about the Spice Wars. Asking her to read what is written, then ponder the question she was posed and then discern what it means for herself before she explained her answer.

“You bought my life; you bought my daughter’s and I’s life with ten thousand men.” Speaking it out loud makes it sound so preposterous! Because Elia knows her numbers and knows that the scale is not balanced, at least not to her; she knows why her brother did it, but she cannot understand _why_ and that troubles her so.

“Why would I not? Are you not my sister, little sister and my only sister may I add?” At this point their game is forgotten for the moment as Elia slightly fidgets under her brother’s gaze. She internally frowns because the look she is receiving is the exact look their mother use to give Oberyn when he would do something that even she could not understand.

“Yes, but-” her words are cut off swiftly as Doran leans forward, his eyes peering directly into hers and she knows that she has poked into a viper’s nest with her statement.

“Did you not think I wouldn’t come for you? I had thought to send in a smuggler, but I could not find a man – at least discreetly enough – that knew of Maegor’s secret passages within the keep. I could not risk the Spider finding out about that man, nor could I risk a smuggler getting you into the passages only to have loyalist waiting for you. I feared the consequences. Our brother was too far in Essos and I had to move quickly.”

Elia releases a sigh, as she stops her hands from wringing against one another, “I did not doubt you would come for me, just that the price was so high.”

That brief pang of grief that has settled in her heart flares up, Elia does not doubt that that pain will ever leave for it has been forever etched onto her heart and soul.

“Do you think me so cold, that I want to see another sibling dead? Or that I would ignore the threat to my own niece?”

 _I’ve done it now,_ Elia sneaks a another glance at Oberyn, hoping that he will wake so that she is not furthered questioned by their elder brother and that the look their mother use to give them, is no longer seen on their brother’s face.

“No, of course I do not think that you know that Doran.” Out of all the times for her brother to be aloof, now is not the time.

“So why then do you act so surprised? I _am_ your elder brother, just as I am _The_ Prince of Dorne. That was my decision and I do not regret it, why do you?”

Elia comes up short to that question and she stares down at the cyvasse board, seemingly in thought before she lifts her hand and moves her elephant piece to her catapult’s flank.

“I do not regret it,” she whispers softly before continuing, “I just hoped that you did not.”

The last thing Elia wants is for Doran to look back and regret at how many lives were lost in exchange for two because she knows that Doran had thought long and hard, but that damn scale she sees in her mind’s eye does not escape her now that she wishes to banish it, almost mockingly in a way.

“I do not regret my actions nor decisions. I did not know our spears would perish in their war, just as I did not know that uncle would perish too,” her brother seems in thought before he continues on, “but every soldier knew what the cost was when I raised the banners. Every house in Dorne is sworn to us, in Dorne, we keep our oaths.”

Elia releases a shuddering breath and she wonders again in awe at the stubbornness of Dorne. Yes, we fight against one another but when Aerys turned his own sword towards her and Deria, then all the spears turned towards him.

She swallows thickly and bites her bottom lip again in thought. Elia may have been the Crown Princess of the Seven Kingdoms; but she was first and foremost Elia _of_ Dorne. That meant more to Dorne than her marriage to Rhaegar, especially after the realm saw her treated so at Harrenhal.

“You are right brother; these were just idle thoughts.” Elia had not meant to stir her brother’s temper, but all she can do is think about how their mother told her how afraid Doran had been to love her. Doran had loved her even in fear that she would die in her cradle just as their two brothers, but he loved her anyway. _Loved me enough to give our spears to our enemies just to keep me safe._ She has always appreciated her elder brother, so much and her heart wrenches because she will soon be leaving him again.

 _But Mehmed would not hold me hostage nor let his father do so either._ A balm and a boon truly, as she watches Doran move his dragon piece forward from its starting point.

“Mhmm…always remember Elia that a burden shared is a burden halved.” Elia could only snort at her brother’s words, because just moons ago Doran was grappling with trying to handle everything himself. _It seems he took mama’s words to heart._

It was easy to see the wisdom in their mother’s words when they had the pleasure of seeing their mother and father ruling together. With Elia leaving, she feels better knowing that Mellario has her ladies from Norvos with her to make her feel at home and settled in Dorne, along with Oberyn here and so near, with his own lordship also.

She has always been the bridge between Doran and Oberyn, not just as the middle child but also because Doran overcame his fear of loving another sibling with her and only a year later with Oberyn being born also. Now as she leans back in her seat, she feels relaxed, somewhat at knowing she has taken care of her brothers. That her brothers will do well while she is in her own empire, her thoughts drift off as she thinks about project to help her ascension as Mehmed’s wife and empress.

Because ten thousand lives had been given for two and Elia now wants to repay that, not just to Dorne but also to the gods and Moraq. The red priests in the Shadow City claim that only ‘death can pay for life’ and while Elia does not plan on dying, she does plan on helping as many people as she can.

“You know, we’ll be sharing custody of him, right?” Doran whispers to her conspiratorially.

“So eager to push away Oberyn are you?” Elia startles a little when Oberyn sneezes and wakes up, his eyes flashing around the room quickly before he relaxed only to have his eyes narrow at them.

“I see someone, or some people are talking about me.” Elia watches her brother stretch like a cat, before he looks at their game of cyvasse and she can already hear the scoff he releases.

“I go to sleep and wake up and your pieces have barely even moved! Seven hells, scoot over Elia.”

She does not even attempt to shoo him away, because Elia can already see how this new game of cyvasse will go, two against one with Oberyn wanting to use the catapult or trebuchet to take away Doran’s dragon that he moved earlier.

Doran does not seem to mind and growing up when this happened, Elia would usually sit and watch Oberyn and Doran play and just laugh at their antics. It is just the three of them in the solar, as Elia watches Oberyn’s face in concentration and she chuckles to herself, clucking her tongue softly.

Her brothers are so different from one another, but so alike in so many ways. Most people think Oberyn alone is hot headed but that is not entirely true, he is hotheaded, but he is also intuitive and perceptive. Her brother has an uncanniness to see through people just like Doran, something Elia wished she had applied when she was married to Rhaegar before it was too late. Oberyn is smart and quick witted just like his elder siblings, and Oberyn may deny it but he has a good portion of their mother in him just as Doran’s is their mother’s son.

If Oberyn perceived a slight, he would find a way to have poison in your food by your evening meal, while Doran would just give a small smile of the lips and bow his head and acquiesce, making those unsuspecting of him. Doran would walk away and then sit in his solar over a board of cyvasse and plot away as to how he would bring about the ruin of your house and your descendants; probably leaving behind a commandment just as Princess Nymeria did for the assimilation of the Rhoynar but instead it would be to tell his own descendants how to destroy you and all the things you hold dear. _He is not so different from Lord Tywin, though he is a bit more honorable then the Old Lion himself._

Oberyn is a viper’s bite while Doran is a scorpion’s sting, you do not feel the scorpion’s venom until you are at death’s door. Doran, while he is knighted and no fabled warrior like their brother has the genius to use his mind and sharp intellect and wit. Elia did good enough growing up at always including Doran in their activities when she could, so that it fostered deep kinship between them. To see that it is paying off with Oberyn essentially becoming Hand of the King, well she could not be more pleased.

Many people look at her brothers and they fear them, rightfully so but never Elia. Never could she cower towards her brothers or think they have malicious intent towards her because they are hers.

Her thoughts are quiet as she sips away at her tea that has slowly become tepid, but it is a good brew nonetheless and it soothes her as she thinks of what the new horizon brings. Even Ashara is spending time with her brother and little sister who had come to see her off on the morrow.

Elia watches over the board, as she sees Doran smile a little and she knows that he is ready to take one of Oberyn’s pieces – because she is no longer playing since Oberyn will be making a mess of the game – as he looks at their baby brother.

Elia herself turns her head to hide a smirk, as Oberyn is forced to either sacrifice a trebuchet or an elephant to take Doran’s dragon, or move a catapult and trebuchet to protect his own dragon that he positioned on the fly.

“I hate this damn game,” Oberyn mumbled with Elia snorting and laughing as she leaned into his side, deciding to show mercy to him.

“Sacrifice one of your elephants because you have four more guarding your king.”

“You’re not supposed to help Elia,” Doran sounds exasperated at her meddling.

“Oh? But he is my baby brother, it is my duty to.” Elia smiles her knowing smile as Doran just rolled his eyes, clearly showcasing a pout when Oberyn takes her advice. 

Posted: 07/03/2020

Edited: 07/03/2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2020? She really hijacked the ship and said "look at me, I'm the captain now" cause girrrrl...yeah the universe could've kept miss 2020 lmao.
> 
> Also, I took the idea of nappin in Doran's solar from my own personal experience. Both my sisters live in Texas and one is like 40 mins away while another is like 25. The amount of times I've just gone over to their house after I've dreamed about them or they popped up in my thoughts, took a nap in their bed or on their couch and just left? Too many to count and its just something we all do, like the other day my sister came with her dog, took two hour nap in my bed and just left and I was like "kay see u later". Idk why the fuck we do it but it is quite nice and silly lmao.


	23. Moondust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feverish dreams and prayers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter title taken from Moondust by Giles Lamb, pretty much the theme for this chapter. Also Giles Lamb is a fucking amazing composer.

Leaving Dorne – again – had taken a lot out of her emotionally, it was not that she was afraid to leave home but she had wanted to be in Dorne when the aqueducts were completed, to see the canals be open that would lead to more water being available to her people. To be there for the festival of the Mother Rhoyne, where even the Orphans ventured away from the Green Blood to come celebrate the rich history and culture of the Rhoynar.

A sigh escaped her, knowing that she herself would be seeing the Rhoyne soon, to feast her eyes on the ruins of Nymeria’s great palace in Ny Sar. No, she would not be in Dorne for the celebration but her heart was comforted at the fact that she would walk the same grounds as her Rhoynar ancestor and see the palace Nymeria had called home, before the Sandship.

The festival would happen on the very day that canals would be open, where water from the Green Blood and Sea of Dorne would make its way around Sunspear. It would be beautiful so much like the dreams she would have that were graceful in their nature. Elia could see it in her mind’s eye, so much work, time and gold had been spent but the internal fighting for well rights that had access to the limited aquifers in Dorne would cease.

It would showcase the wide-scale cooperation of the houses in Dorne, from each well, more canals could be built from the aquifers which would allow Dorne to truly bloom, like Aerys had haphazardly planned all those years ago before madness settled in him.

Dorne would be doing it herself, all her children coming together to complete a goal and be united in it. It would be some time before Elia would see her homeland again, but she knows that the next time she does, it will be even more beautiful than it already was.

Elia was nestled deeply under the sheets and duvet that covered the bed, as the rocking motion of the ship drifted her in and out of consciousness. She did not travel much by sea growing up, but she is coming to love it simply for the rocking motion, like a mother to a child – or even the way Mother Rhoyne is said to hold her children on the Rhoyne River.

Her hair was sprawled across the pillows as it had become undone from her long braid throughout the night. Her hands idly rested on her flat stomach, as she shifted slightly under the warmth of coverings. Her husband offered more heat than she knew what to do with and while winter had begun, the sea offered up a chilly breeze that Elia had quickly come to detest. Elia had been born in the summer, she was not made for cold temperatures where things withered and died without proper protection.

Her eyes opened but her sight was blurry as she wiped away at them, the small window still showed that it was dark out, morning being no where near close but the moonlight offered a better compromise than total darkness alone.

Her hands still rested on her stomach as she thought about her actions the day before, she did not know why she turned away her wild carrot tea that had been brewed for her most mornings except when her moon blood came. Seeing Mellario pregnant once again and her own daughter growing up so quickly – too quickly – made Elia hunger for another babe to be placed in her womb.

Another small child for Elia to love and hold, to snuggle with and to nurse at her own breasts just as she did Deria. It had been a spur of the moment decision when she turned away the tea, after Mehmed had taken leave to talk to the captain and look at navigation charts. Elia had been a little afraid to turn away the tea in front of him, but she poured it out of the window with none the wiser. She did feel bad when she did it, keeping it a secret but Elia had learned that wanting something and speaking it out loud could easily call it into existence. She has learned to not ask for more than what the gods have given her, so she has not prayed yet for more children, afraid of what could happen when she did so.

The gods give and they taketh away, she did not want another babe to be snatched from her womb before she even had time to hold them.

Elia turned, facing her husband and she watched him sleep – not for the first time – in awe as even in sleep, his face remained blank, showing no distress or eustress of his dreams. She scooted closer like a moth to a flame, but she did not fear being burnt as her skin touched her husband's, she sighed out a relieved breath at his warmth and comfort.

She was awake now and she did not doubt she would be finding sleep again any time soon. Every night spent out at sea, further from Dorne soothed the ache and want in her heart, the grief she carried seemed more muted now than ever. As though distance had solved the plague that had settled in her heart when the war ended; it was comforting and soothing to her soul.

Elia had been worried when they crossed through the Stepstones, but Mehmed didn’t seem so. When Mehmed and Jade first arrived in Dorne, they mentioned they crossed through the Stepstones then too and Elia wondered if mayhaps her husband had a deal with whatever pirate king that had settled there. It would explain why they sailed unmolested through the sea of pirates with not an utter of disturbance.

Mehmed had told her that it would only be a few more days before they passed the Orange Shore and would stop in Volantis before sailing up the Rhoyne and then to stop once again in Ny Sar to let out their horses and to see Nymeria’s palace. However, Elia did not need to know her husband to tell her how close they were, when she could feel it in her soul, as though a siren was calling Elia forward.

 _Whispers in the wind_ , Elia thought it to be even now in her bed, the sea sounds like lyrics to a long-forgotten song. Blood sings to blood, is the saying of the Orphans and now Elia understands that whole-heartedly.

Her thoughts were carrying in every direction, from wanting another child, to visiting the lands of her ancestors to the new home that awaited her in Great Moraq. Elia pressed herself against her husband, smiling softly when he moved just a bit before settling once more. Her small hands cupped one of his and she wondered how his hands would feel on her stomach should she get with child. _A child made from love,_ Elia felt her face grow hot, as one of her hands traced Mehmed’s face gently, she felt like a young girl whenever she did this during the night when she could not sleep. Tracing her husband’s face, from the underside of his chin to his hairline; fingers moving softly through his beard and the curls on top of his pretty head.

 _This is love, true love,_ what she thought she had before with those two fools was nothing, but an appetizer compared to the courses that Mehmed offered her. Elia did not consider herself lucky often, but laying in the moonlight, with whispers in the wind and burrowing herself against her husband, she wondered how could she not be?

 _If only I had known,_ she thought as she leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss into the teak colored soft hairs that aligned her husband’s face. A small squeak left her lips when she found herself quickly trapped underneath her husband, her legs being shoved apart by his own as he laid on top of her, peering down at her with his astute eyes.

“I see you’re not asleep, instead you wake me from my own slumber,” his words are soft in the dark with the moonlight from the small window casting a small light on his face.

Elia huffs out a small breath, not knowing why she should be surprised that her husband is agile enough to go from slumbering to towering over her in a matter of seconds. Elia supposes it was his upbringing and training, that’s made him so quick on the uptake – though her husband sleeps well with her by his side – he is still a light sleeper, however. Elia wonders how that can be when Lady Mara herself told her about the storms that settle on the coast near the Weeping Mountains.

“It is such a lovely night to be asleep, I was just in my thoughts, that is all.” It was not a total lie, so far Elia had done very good at not keeping secrets with Mehmed, though when he stares at her like this, she cannot help but feel as though the deed she did yesterday is written on her face.

Her night shift was thin, more YiTish silk she’d been gifted at her wedding that had been dyed in a light orange and Elia stilled when she felt her husband’s hardened member pressing up against her thighs. She turned her head, licking her lips slightly when she realized her husband had come to bed naked. Mehmed did not seem disturbed by the cold nor the heat and from what Elia has learned, Great Moraq sits in between a good climate.

Elia had gone to bed before he did, after she finished tea with Lady Mara, Ashara and the rest of her ladies. Deria had been tired out easily with exploring the deck and trying to fish but Elia knows that Mehmed had been busy not with just their voyage but his plans for his rule.

More weight was added on top of her, but Mehmed braced himself on his forearms, while his warm hands cupped her face as he turned it back towards him. Elia shifted slightly, which only brushed her covered sex against his naked length.

“Well, we can’t have _that,_ now can we?” Mehmed spoke lowly in her ear, making her shiver though not from the cold night air.

A small laugh ranged through the air when Mehmed buried his face in her neck, sucking on her skin lightly while his other hand traveled underneath her shift. Elia closed her eyes, doing what she said she would not do but in the night like this, with the sea singing so softly in one ear as she heard her own sighs in another, she let out a small prayer for a healthy living babe.

Her words did not reach her husband’s ears, but they were not for him to hear, Elia prayed that with her nearing the Rhoyne that those prayers shall be carried on the sea and towards Mother Rhoyne. Elia had wanted to wait before she began actively trying for a babe until she got her a firm grip as a sultana but what better way to settle into a new home than with a new babe that would help settle any qualms? A new babe for Deria to love because Elia remembered how Deria would lean her head against her stomach when she had been pregnant with her second child.

Their lips met in the silence of the cabin, with its black wooden walls and Moraqi tapestry that showed the different voyages Mehmed has been on. In the silence of the night they are surrounded by tales of her husband’s past, while journeying to their future – the irony is not lost on her – and she relishes in the fervent touches that are bestowed upon her.

Their bodies move against one another between the sheets, her shift rounding up near her hips before Mehmed takes the gown off entirely and discards it on the matching black wooden floor. Her nipples begin to harden, from arousal or the coldness she does not know, but it does not matter when Mehmed places himself above her again. His warm chest meeting her small frame and she is intimately aware that she can feel the fluttering of his own heart in his chest opposite of her own.

It is a habit that she has come to develop, studying her husband while he lounges or most importantly while he sleeps. Elia had not been able to do so with Rhaegar, but Mehmed stays in her bed, even when she has her moon blood, either rubbing her back from the pains or just holding her.

As her husband looms over her with one forearm down, the hand attached pulling at the long curls of her head, while the other one plays with the trimmed curls between her legs before moving to her sex which is leaking with wetness, she rubs her hands across his back. She pays no mind to his scars, running soft hands over them, her fingers nimble enough to ghost against his back before she cups his face just like he did hers earlier.

She runs one hand through his curls while the other on his forearm, pushing back the ones in the front that are so unruly but she enjoys those the most because it makes her husband look so young and carefree when his curls are just as wild as hers. An ache settles not just between her loins but also her heart because she can imagine so easily of a babe with his curls and those piercings eyes, she hungers for it. To give her husband a child, though he has taken Deria for his own, she is not his. A child that would be of his image, just as Deria is entirely hers, she whispers that prayer once more.

It’s a bitter truth that Elia will have to live with, but she wants to give her husband his own child, of his own blood because he has given her so much. Mehmed gave her peace and love when she did not think to find it and she wants to return them more than tenfold because of how thankful she is that the gods saw fit to send him to her.

The moonlight gives enough to cast a cascade of a shadow over them as they stare at one another before Elia leans forward, rising against the pillow and pressing her lips to his, not caring about the taste of sleep. Her hands tremble slightly before they fist in his hair, opening her mouth more to slide her tongue against his and she thinks that this is so significant. A decision she is making without being forced to when it comes to child-bearing that she could weep if she could. It is her decision to make, because Mehmed had given her that when he first arrived not caring about her miscarriage or what the maesters had said.

It only steels her resolve as she hooks both of her legs around his waist before using all the strength she can muster to flip them over and she relishes in the small look of surprise and the genuine smile she receives from doing so. She quite likes her husband’s smiles, his full ones most importantly that seem so rare and reserved for his family’s eyes only.

Elia leans over him, pressing her lips back to him, enjoying the small tickling that his trimmed beard and mustache give her. She pulls away – albeit reluctantly – and runs her hands down his abdomen in a dazed gaze, touching his muscles, before looking back at him and leaning back down to rejoin their lips. Elia likes that they do not have to speak, that they know one another’s bodies enough to take note of all the sounds they make. From groans, moans and sighs, even a grunt every now and then from Mehmed when Elia had taken him in her mouth one time, she had chuckled while doing so and he had grunted in frustration; Elia made note that while he told her once “she need not kneel at his feet”, he never made note not to kneel at his cock. Mehmed had thrown back his head and laughed at her quip before Elia had swallowed his seed and made him silent in pleasure.

While their mouths were pressed together, one of her hands drifted down in between them, not surprised by the wetness coating the apex of her thighs, nor of the small bead of seed at the tip of his cock. She gripped it firmly in her hand, starting with gentle strokes like she does whenever she has time to paint, before hardening that grip like she does with her horse’s reigns.

They have been in this position many times, there are so many things she has come to love and enjoy about her husband but the way he takes his time when exploring her body during sex is one of them. They do not rush, never have they done so because like Elia, Mehmed is a patient lover for as much as he takes, he also gives. It is so _lovely_ , to have that affection returned to her. His large hands are split apart in their tasks, one hand in her hair, for her husband loves her curls just as much as she loves his; while the other hand rest on her breast, tugging at her nipple – alternating between gentle and hard tugs, not that she minds.

Elia’s free hand has settled on Mehmed’s chest as she raised herself up from his waist and hovered above his erected cock that she held in her hand, lowering herself one measure at a time. When she was nestled against the curls of the base, she leaned back, one arm gripping his thigh while the grabbed onto a hand, as she began to ride him. Their fingers were interwoven together and she felt more daring as she picked up her speed, rocking with the motion of the ship and while staring down at her husband, whose other hand had settled from her hair to her hip, his eyes were closed.

She liked that she could do this to her husband, to make him close his eyes, to see the way at times he would bite his lips, the feel of his hands grabbing onto her hips as he drove up into her at the same time she grounded against him. Her movements stutter when she finds that special spot that is buried deep within her, the spot that makes her toes curl up and her breath more ragged as she tries to keep pace but fails abysmally. Mehmed sits upright, his mouth latching on to one of her breasts, his tongue pressed against her brown nipple, his teeth biting down on the nub intermittently, as he alternates between each breast. His hands move from her hips to her back, trying to press himself against her when his mouth seeks out her neck again, sucking on the skin and nibbling down harshly, knowing that there will be marks in the morning – not that she minds.

The pressure she feels on her neck, combined with the spot that she keeps poking at with her husband’s cock pushes her over the edge and she free falls, her arms wide for a moment before she clings to her husband, burying her face in his neck and a whimper escapes her as she can feel herself clenching around him. She shivers but it does not last long before she is flipped back onto the bed, with Mehmed never withdrawing himself from her, he is still nestled deeply in her when his lips brush against her full lips, as he grabs one of her legs and throws it over one of his shoulders.

Elia would have been mortified at this position considering how much is on display, but she has grown comfortable in her nudity. The moonlight dust over their skin, that lightly sheens with sweat, the sounds of their bodies coming together for a moment only to be separated in the next. Both of their breaths are labored but it does not stop her husband from trying to bring her to another orgasm, she feels sensitive now – hyper aware even – as she moans out her husband's name softly in the night. His hips snap against her a few more times before she feels the familiar burning inside of her, of her husband’s seed spurting and her husband’s release triggers her second one as her back arches away from the bed, with her head buried in pillows and her teeth biting down on her lips to keep quiet in their cabin. Their sounds can be covered by the waves but Elia’s screams cannot be masked and so she turns her head and grips a pillow, half of it covering her mouth as she exhales deeply and closes her eyes as she enjoys the post effect of sex.

There is sweat on her body, but she does not mind how it chills in the night’s air, nor that she minds that her husband is still buried within her and she can still feel his cock spasming inside her. Even when he stills, he still remains before slowly withdrawing and Elia already misses him there but alas it would not be productive of a queen to remain seated on her husband’s cock all day, even if it is a pretty one.

 _Would that I could,_ she laughs softly to herself before she flinches gingerly at the soreness that is encroaching on her muscles as Mehmed places her leg back down and she clenches her own sex, trying to keep her husband’s seed within her. Mehmed looks pleased rubbing absentmindedly at her thighs before he grabs a pillow and shoves it under her hips.

“I fear I grabbed on too tightly, this should alleviate some pain.” Mehmed offers it up as an explanation and Elia stares at him, the light in the room to see his gaze enough to know that he his earnest at his intentions.

Elia does not say that she would have done this when he went back to sleep, for it is an old wives’ tale that allows the seed to catch on quicker. When Mehmed moves to get up so that he can clean between her legs, she stops him, not wanting him to be rid of the mess between her thighs, “I can do it in the morning, let us sleep.”

Elia meets his gaze, as it searches her eyes and she is proud of herself for not turning away but simply patting the spot next to her, for all she wants now is for her husband to hold her close as he is oft to do during the night. He relents, laying down and throwing his arm over body, pulling her close as he nestles his face towards her neck, kissing the same spot he had bitten on earlier before kissing her on the lips.

When she feels him relax, signaling that he has gone back to sleep, only then does she unclench her sex, happy to not feel the usual gush of wetness of her husband’s seed seeping out onto the sheets. Elia prays to Mother Rhoyne and Al-lat, the Moraqi goddess of fertility. _Give me a child, I beseech you._ There is a part of her that is selfless in the want, to give her husband a child but another part of her is selfish, so selfish to prove that she is not what Aerys thought her to be, that she is more than what Rhaegar discarded her for. _Give me a child_. So that she can prove those who hate and doubt her wrong, so that she can place a babe in her husband’s arms, and he’ll know the love of a child to a parent.

The closer they get to the Rhoyne she more she realizes the paradox that she has been saddled with, Nymeria led ten thousand ships with her people when they had been threatened with slavery. Ten thousand lives paid for two and she cannot help but ask the gods for more, because surely, she can give more, _let me balance the scales so that their deaths not be in vain._ Let her place a babe in her husband’s arms, let her sends off portraits of her children to their uncles, that Doran can see what his decision had bought, a new niece or nephew for him to dote upon when they visit. A new cousin for Lewyn to play with, to help soothe the ache of a dead father. _Please,_ so that her guilt can be less than what it is, so that her family can grow and when Elia is old, she can be surrounded by plenty grandchildren before she gives herself to death.

 _Death has already taken one child from me; I only wish for what I had lost._ Her hands travel down to her empty stomach and she closes her eyes tightly and prays once more to her goddesses, that they see and hear her prayer and have mercy upon her to grant her this boon. Just one child, even if she can have no more afterwards just one child to give to her husband whom she loves and desires.

Posted: 07/09/2020

Edited: 07/09/2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep telling myself I'll update my other fic, and I will...eventually lol so sorry if you're reading Forward March. But I have so much planned for this story, not to mention what I have planned for Deria as she gets older. I'm also debating if I should take Forward March down and then reformat it, where what I have, has already happened and its just the Misadventures of Leah and her vampires navigating life. IDK, but I'm thinking about it, so please don't shoot me. Trying to figure out how to clean that up lol.


	24. Whispers in the Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sun buoys on the river.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late, been reading so many fics this week and coming up with a plan for my Twilight fic. Finally got an idea going so I'm glad about that. Creative juices? Hell yeah.

Growing up as a child, Elia learned a lot about her Rhoynar ancestors and their gods. It was said that Mother Rhoyne first lived in the skies, but the Old Men who had settled onto the land had called out, drawing Mother Rhoyne from the sky to an empty land and she took the water from the sky. Thus, the Rhoyne was born out of the union from Mother Rhoyne and the Old Men of the River.

 _There must be some merits to the tale,_ for the Rhoyne is cerulean in color, that reflects the skies above their ship. Elia can see giants turtles that had moss running over them, though they looked imposing, she did not feel fear dwell in her heart.

It was all so beautiful.

Deria was pressed up against her chest and the rail, her daughter spoke and then pointed asking what something was, but Elia could only look on in awe. Mehmed, who was standing behind Elia was the one answering Deria, for Elia had no idea what she was really seeing; everything being so different but alike from what she read growing up. They had stopped in Volantis and it had tickled Elia some to see obvious Valyrian women walking around.

When Elia had made note of it, Mehmed had told her that when the Baratheons came on Aerys’ favor, the Valyrians of Volantis hid behind their Black Walls. Apparently the Targaryens and Blackfyres did not leave a good impression and considering Aerys’ madness had reached even Great Moraq, it did not surprise her so that it reached the rest of Essos also.

No one wanted to give up their daughter, even for a Crown Prince and it fell to Elia to be the sacrifice as bitter as it was. While Elia understood it, she also hated it because she had paid the price, but she had ultimately shrugged her shoulders not wanting to fester on something that could no longer be changed.

When they finally reached Ny Sar, Elia had changed into swimming clothes and helped her daughter into her own, as they descended from the ship and Elia looked around as the sun kissed her skin with warmth.

Lady Mara and Mehmed were speaking with one another, Elia knows that her good mother is quite eager to be reunited with her husband and Elia does not blame her for that. Her daughter kept looking at everything with wide eyes, her surroundings new and it made Elia quite happy that her little sun was taking everything in stride.

She feared how Deria would take the separation from her cousins, but once everything settles – within Dorne and also Elia and Mehmed’s rule – Oberyn will be the first to visit them and hopefully by then, she shall have a new babe in her arms also. It may be folly to put pressure on herself, but Elia has found she works well under strict guidelines, for if she did not, she is sure she would not have survived Aerys and the capital.

As Elia walked closer to the riverbed, she took her feet out of her sandals, dipping one toe in the river and exhaling at the warmth. While it was winter, it seemed the further east they went the chill did not seem as bad as it had been just days ago. Deria clung to her but she did not mind the warmth from her little sun as she took steps forward into the water.

She knows her daughter knows how to swim, it would be an insult to her Rhoynar ancestry if she did not and Elia wonders if this is what Nymeria did as a child. Coming out from the Palace of Ny Sar and dipped her toes into the water before she swam. How it must have been, swimming in the river of your gods. It warmed something deep in her, down to the marrow of her bones as her steps carried her further in the water.

The water crashed against her skin, bathing her and her daughter in a thin blanket of water but they both did not offer a protest.

“Do you wish to swim, little sun?” She asked her daughter as Deria looked around, her onyx eyes taking in the gigantic turtles that seemed to be watching them solely.

Her daughter nodded her head and Elia slowly let her down but kept her hands under the apex of her arms. Deria squealed in delight, splashing her little arms in the cool water as Elia held her afloat.

She did not miss the ripples that surrounded them when Mehmed had joined them, some of their crew being further down in the river to give them some privacy. Lady Mara seemed more than happy to sit on the sand with her feet encased in the water as she watched her people swim. Ashara was sitting with her, it seemed that while Elia had been in the west for Jaime’s wedding, Ashara had taken solace in her good mother.

Elia can only imagine a portion of her friend’s pain, for all that Rhaegar did to her, her own brothers did not abandon her to the wayside. Ashara now lives under the shadow of Arthur’s actions, so too does the rest of House Dayne. She knows that her friend has been struggling with looking over potential suitors and while Elia is understanding, she also knows that Ashara must make a choice when they arrive in Great Moraq. The sooner Ashara attaches herself to someone of note, the sooner prestige can be brought back to House Dayne.

 _I understand, I do but I hope she is not still angry with me._ For their friendship has cooled ever since Elia gave Ashara that list of suitors but the new sultana is not willing to apologize for her actions. Elia had licked her wounds for some moons, but she still had a duty to perform to her house and to herself. Brandon Stark would have never been Ashara's and Elia often wonders what would have came of it should Ashara's babe had lived. Lyanna Stark could have easily ask her niece be brought to the capital, it would have been a hostage, Elia does not doubt and while Dorne would not have given up Ashara nor her babe, mayhaps Mother Rhoyne saw fit to take away the opportunity for such a thing to happen. She sighed, before clearing herself of such thoughts, _what is done is done._

Giving yourself to grief for too long will only cause those wounds to fester. It is better to cauterize or stitch the wound and be on your way, Elia learned that the hard way and with great difficulty.

Her thoughts turn back to her daughter as she slowly lets her go, as Mehmed offers up his own muscled arms to hold her as he swims, his curls sticking to his head in the sunlight. It still brings her great pleasure and a note of happiness to see her daughter becoming more friendly to her husband as times goes on. Deria had called him ‘baba’ when they first returned from Casterly Rock, because as far as Deria was concerned, Mehmed was the nice man who gave her birds (whom her daughter name Keza and Hyza) along with sticky sweet buns to eat. Mehmed did not seem phased at his new title, but Lady Mara looked like she would cry since Deria already started calling Lady Mara ‘Nene’, Moraqi for grandmother, while they were away.

It did not surprise her, for Deria had loved Rhaella and Lady Mara told her it would not be a betrayal to acknowledge Lady Mara as her new grandmother or call Mehmed baba because that was what he now was, for he did marry her mother. Her daughter did seem quick to Lady Mara for she was as kind and sweet as Rhaella, as grandmothers often are, just as her own mother had been for Arianne while she was still alive. Her daughter does not speak of Rhaegar anymore, something Elia is thankful for but also worried about. _Is it too soon? Does she remember him?_ Because her daughter remembered her silver haired grandmother and uncle, who are now simply her cousins. The little princess does not speak about Rhaegar and Elia is loft to try to coax it out of her.

 _I cannot blame her for putting away the monsters under her bed._ Rhaegar is where he is and they are where they are at, it is what it is.

With Deria out of her arms and with her hair in a long braid that lays against her back with the ends wet from the river, Elia lays against the water, welcoming it once more. The tension underlying in her body disappears as she begins to float in the water, the ripples around her pushing against her ears and she closes her eyes in peace.

It is so different from swimming in the Water Gardens or even the Sea of Dorne, but at the same time so familiar; because in a way she feels like she belongs in this river– as though she always meant to come here.

Elia can hear the soft tone of her husband’s voice and Deria’s own, she can hear the sailors and even her cousins splashing around. Yet oddly enough she can hear something else too like a long-forgotten voice that she knows only in her dreams, she wonders what it is. Her paternal family always had tales of Rhoyne and the Rhoynar. Her great grandmother, Lady Kynir was said have dark azure eyes, her own papa whose eyes had been just as dark as her own, had dark azure rings around them. It was a Rhoynar thing, even Nymeria had the same eyes, or its rumored she did. The azure eyes are written in ancient tomes about the Rhoynar culture and people, of how those touched by Mother Rhoyne have been gifted with her abundance.

 _I do not know what to believe but a piece of me is at home here,_ she thinks softly to herself as her body buoys on the water. The sun is not too harsh nor unforgiving, not like the Dornish sun and Elia is content to just float on these waters for a long while though it is abruptly interrupted.

“Mama!” Is all the warning she gets before her daughter is dunked onto her chest; she can hear Mehmed chuckling over her before she finally opens her eyes to see his grinning face.

It is easy to kick her legs to keep herself float as her daughter is now back in her arms and Elia feeling childish, sticks her tongue out at her husband. For all that he is a ruler and warrior, he is quite childish when he wants to be. Being in the river, where Elia stands and where she can see the Old Men of the Sea, she thinks about the union between her Rhoynar gods. It is said that the Rhoynar crawled up from the sea onto the banks of the river after the Old Men of the Sea split their seed in the river and Mother Rhoyne was blessed with children.

Those children then made up the different leaders of the settlements of the Rhoyne, from Ghoyan Drohe to Chroyane to Sar Mell and of course Ny Sar. It was once said that Ny Sar was a city that was filled with fountains and a city filled with song. _Mayhaps that is what I hear, a song, a remnant of my ancestors._

While Elia had been busying floating on the waters, some of the sailors had brought down barrels, to hoard some of the river so that it would be going in two different directions. One on a ship back to Dorne once they meet with Mellario’s family in Volantis on their way back, as a thank you to the Orphans of the Greenblood, not to mention that their great grandmother was also a tribe princess, along with barrels being taken to Great Moraq. Elia wants a fountain to be made, just as Ny Sar was filled with fountains, she wants a grand fountain that has some of the Rhoyne River flowing throughout it.

“Let us go and get dry Elia, before the chill comes back and we catch a cold,” Mehmed states as he wraps an arm around her waist as they come back towards the bank of the river.

Elia cannot disagree with her husband, she knows at night the temperature will drop and it is better to be dry and warm before the coldness sets in on the sea again as they continue their voyage and head back to Volantis.

It took some days to travel up from Volantis to Ny Sar and she is happy that their voyage has been smooth with no troubles from pirates. It is why they will not linger longer than necessary and while it is only noon, it is better to head back down south the Rhoyne and not tempt fate.

“Come along little sun, let us get dry.” Elia sets her daughter down on the sand, their naked feet mushing in the sand before she helps her daughter put her little sandals back on before doing the same for herself. Their clothes cling to their bodies, as they pass by the Shadow Guard, but the idea of a warm bath and dry clothes make both her and her daughter’s feet more eager, as Mehmed trails behind talking to his guards.

Elia on catches a few words like ‘guard’, ‘watch’ and ‘pirates’ and she knows that Mehmed is eager to head back to his empire without being molested by pirates and other vagabonds that seek trouble. When they arrive in Great Moraq, Mehmed will be taking the throne for the final time, while doing so alone, no longer being a co-sultan with his father but ruling solely on his own. Elia and Mehmed both will be crowned, once again and within a few weeks of that, Lady Mara and sultan Mehmet will soon go on a ‘progress’ which will be nothing more than a disguise for the previous sultana and sultan to let the new ones settle into their positions of powers.

 _Politics are such a messy game,_ though being raised at her mother’s knee has allowed Elia to navigate it well enough. Elia finds herself quite eager to find out what Moraqi politics are like, for all that her husband, sister and mother are blunt, she wonders how their game of thrones is played.

Time passes slowly as her maids bring forth a tub and Elia decides to bath with her daughter so that they may save time on having to get two separate tubs in the room.

It takes a few hours surprisingly as she sits in a robe with her daughter in her and Mehmed’s private cabin, as she knows Mehmed is still talking to his guards and the captain of the ship so that they can remain on time. A tub is brought in with hot water, Elia can see the steam rising as she patiently waits for it to cool, thankful for the spare robe she has that she had decided to wear. By the time she is finished, it will be time for the evening meal for they have already begun sailing again.

When the water is cool enough but still warm, Elia undresses herself and her daughter before her daughter settles on her lap, her maids had been mindful to not fill the tub so high in their regard for her daughter and she’s thankful for that.

“Did you have fun today, little sun?” Elia asks as she grabs a cloth and her soap to begin cleaning her daughter first.

“Yes, mama. It was nice! The turtles were very big and a little scary.” Elia chuckles out loud pressing a quick kiss on her daughter’s head, not minding to faint taste of sea salt on her lips from the Rhoyne.

“You need not fear those turtles, my love. They are the Old Men of the River, beloved consorts to Mother Rhoyne, protectors of the Rhoyne and Mother herself.”

Deria had a septa shadowing her while at Dragonstone when she was still married to Rhaegar, but Elia has never shied away with teaching her daughter about the Rhoynish gods. Even now, Lady Mara and herself have been teaching her daughter about the Moraqi gods, for she is a princess of House Han. _Forewarned is forearmed,_ she shall make sure her daughter know of the religion of the empire before she takes up her own province to rule.

Her daughter simply shook her head, before she began to rabble about everything else that was on her mind as Elia cleaned her and then herself. Deria spoke about today, what she did yesterday, her cousins and uncles, she spoke about her new aunt Jade. Saying how nice it was to have an aunt after having so many uncles which only made Elia chuckle.

Elia often wished for a sister, but she found one in Ashara and now Jade so she can’t complain too much.

After they dried themselves, Elia had rubbed oil onto her daughter’s skin to keep it soft and smooth before doing the same to herself, her maids came in, as her own ladies were in their chambers also cleaning away the salt from the river.

All that swimming and floating under the sun has caused her appetite to grow and her hands snuck down to her empty stomach, sending off a silent prayer for a babe. Every night since she made love to her husband under the moonlight in their bed, she has prayed for a babe. When her husband takes her to bed, she clenches her muscles to keep his seed in, she waits for her husband to drift to sleep before shoving a pillow under her hips to help keep his seed in so that it match catch and form a babe.

Elia would love to give Deria another sibling, one who would not be so far in age from her and she only hope that her prayers are heard once again. A selfish thing to do, but it cannot be so selfish when her prayers are for a multitude of people.

“Mama…” Elia has her back turned toward her daughter who is sitting on the chaise when Elia lifts her head and looks at her.

It is something that she does unconsciously because she remembers how often it was when Aerys would speak down to her, never actually talking _to_ her but _at_ her instead. When Elia would see Rhaegar and engage in conversation – or at least attempt to – and how she was mostly discarded for tomes and prophecy alike, or even how Arthur did not necessarily talk to her but talk to the ghost of her that still gave him kisses in the Water Garden. Elia wants her daughter to know, even as young as she is that her mother will always give her, her undivided attention and that her daughter’s words are important.

“Yes, my love?” They are both dressed now and warm clothes, her daughter sits on the chaise, kicking her feet out before stilling herself, as Elia watches in silence.

“Is it alright, if I continue to call Mehmed baba?” The expression on her daughter’s face is pained, an expression that should not be on her young daughter’s face at all and she proudly stifles a curse towards Rhaegar.

Her daughter’s self-confidence has been hit and brutalized before she has even reached her teenage years and Elia mourns for that. That her daughter will always in a way seem to second guess herself just as Elia does and she wonders why she cannot take this burden from her daughter and place it upon herself.

Before they had left for Casterly Rock, Mehmed had taken a few hours to spend with Deria and Elia did not ask, because that moment was theirs alone and she did not wish to disturb it.

“Of course, unless you do not wish to?” Because she always wants to put forth a choice for her daughter, to never have her daughter believe that there are no choices, that there are no other paths for her to take.

“He’s nice. Like how uncle Oby is to Obara, Nym, Ty and Sarie and everyone else…”

Her daughter trails off and Elia does not push her, her daughter is smart, and she can speak her own words without Elia coaxing them when it is not needed. Elia just combs her hands through her daughter’s hair, soothing her in silence.

“Will he stay with us?”

That blow comes swift and hard and Elia has enough practice to keep her face still and not flinch like she wants to. _It is not fair,_ she screams internally. It is not fair, but it is what it is and the only thing she can do for this blow is to keep going as she always had. The same way her daughter must do, however unfortunate that it is.

Elia could say ‘yes of course’, but she knows Rhaegar also made that promise to her daughter, to return and he did return, except with his new wife and child and Elia and Deria had been shuffled out in the turn of events. Her daughter is smart, too smart to not see that just as Rhaegar left, Mehmed could leave too but she does not believe that he will because everything Mehmed has, he has worked for. Their marriage and the love they share for one another is something they have both worked for and they see no reason to have it implode. Her husband is not the kind of man to give up, the scars on his back, the faint one on his face and even his hands are proof enough. 

Elia carefully chooses her next words, hoping that Mehmed was here now to explain but just as Elia had looked to her own mother for guidance and reassurance once her father died, Deria is now doing the same thing and she cannot begrudge her daughter that.

_So smart yet so young._

“Mehmed and I have worked hard for this marriage, from agreements to minor disagreements. However, we love each other…he loves me in a way that I have not had before,” she is careful to omit Rhaegar’s name because he is better off in their thoughts or forgotten entirely. “I think you are safe to call him your baba, for he is one in all the ways that matter. We shall soon be in Great Moraq, which Mehmed is the sultan of, yes? He is a father to all his subjects, you have been named a princess of House Han, you are already his subject. It is quite alright to call him baba.”

It is a long-winded explanation, her daughter has seen Oberyn’s own children calling him papa, has seen little Tyene and Sarella call Jade mama, because she is their father’s wife and she cuddles and holds them close. Arianne who Doran dotes upon with love and soft kisses to her fat cheeks. Elia knows that her daughter simply wants what her cousins have, that she has seen since they arrived in Dorne from King’s Landing.

The silence stretches on, as Elia combs through her hair still, her other hand settling them with Deria laying on Elia’s chest with one of her hands over Deria’s back, rubbing soothing motions to it just as Elia did when Deria was a small baby.

“I think I would like him to be baba still.” Her daughter’s voice is a little stronger now and she cannot help but smile at the influence that her nieces, especially Obara has had on her.

“Then that is quite alright, little sun.”

Posted: 07/18/2020

Edited: 07/18/2020


	25. Interlude: Jade I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A eagle is left to scout new territory; a dance of blades begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so here is Jade. I hope I got her right with my showcasing her characterizations. Jade is the kind of girl who is thinking a mile a minute and she's spent time in Asshai. She's not afraid to get her hand's dirty just like her big brother. As far as she's concerned if its for the betterment of her new kingdom and her brother's empire...well...does she really care so long as the end justify the means? nah she don't. 
> 
> So I reached almost 7k and I had a whole 'quarry opens and some shit goes down plot' but I knew I would be waaaay over my word count and I didn't want to wait to release this chapter. I think I'll take the advice someone gave (so sorry I don't remember you) and do a double interlude, one interlude from Jade and another from Arthur, as Jade's actions will be seen in KL's it'll be so much fun, I really can't wait.

Jade always knew that her life would not always be in Great Moraq, she knew that the moment her brother had sent her away for her own protection. At the time, she had been hurt – devastated – because she did not want to be separated from her home, from her life and family. But Jade has always been a realist, a pessimist even more than her brother and the facts had been laid bare, she was not safe in Moraq.

That had been a dangerous wake up call, because for all of House Han’s inter-politics, the shadowed kinslaying, the silent and dark rivalries between cousins, it never occurred to her that she would not be safe, not in her own home. That was when the anger came, true anger and hatred that not only did she have to be sent away for her own protection, but that her brother had to do this on his own. Moraq has a complicated inter-working system, to outsiders it may seem nonsensical but to Moraqis, to Hans…it just...worked. Their father, Sultan Mehmet could not involve himself directly because like everything in Moraq it was a test, to see if Mehmed could stand on his own two feet without help from their baba and so he did.

Ever since her brother let it be known he was bidding toward the throne, simple things became tests, for councilmen, pashas, generals and even scholars to see how he worked, to test his mantle and resolve. It was tiring for her brother and she knew that then and knows it even now, which was why it hurt then to be sent so far away from her brother.

Jade would kill anyone to dare to argue against her opinion but as far as she was concerned, her brother was the best and greatest man she knew. Mayhaps that is personal bias but its not like she really cares; she knows it to be true. Mehmed had bid for the throne and made three attempts before he was finally seated by their baba as co-sultan until Mehmed took the time to learn to rule as sultan before their baba retired.

Mehmed had sent to her to Asshai and he made a promise to bring her home when all was settled, Jade knew she had to go but she did so reluctantly. This was not _their_ way, because for as long as anyone could remember it had been Mehmed and Jade. Two siblings with their backs to each other and guarding one another. How could Jade protect her brother if she were so far out of his reach and she out of his? It angered her even more for not only was Halil Pasha standing in her way, but he thought to use her womb, to use her body and blood against her own brother. 

_He played a stupid game and won a stupid prize, fitting. Along with his equally stupid son._

That anger had driven her into the shadows of Asshai, with her two most loyal guards, Creon and Heron at her side as was their oath. Jade had given herself to Lady Liopa, a shadow binder who dabbled in the dark arts and alchemy. Jade told herself that she would acquire the skills to protect not just herself but her family outside of her swords. It was easier to kill a man with a tonic and poison at dinner then to slit his throat in a dark alley, though either worked just fine in her opinion, poison _was_ less messier. Considering she often wore white, it was always a pain getting rid of blood from her gowns, she started wearing black when she did her work killing, not wanting to ruin anymore gowns.

Jade had stayed in Asshai for many years, writing letters to her brother and mother that had to be delivered with the utmost secrecy but it warmed her heart on the coldest nights when she read their words back to herself. Her baba was not to be a man trifled with and he could not do much, publicly at the betrayal of an old friend. The Moraqi court could be just as shadowy as the Shadow Guards but in the end, it worked out, Jade had no doubt because her big brother was a man of his word.

When Jade heard that her brother killed Halil Pasha and stepped over his body, with blood pooling before the throne, she had thrown back her head and _cackled_. Mayhaps her time in Asshai made her a little more…expendable with her ethics but that was quite alright given who her family was and what they did to preserve their empire and their throne.

Jade had almost been sad to leave her teacher, to leave behind Asshai because all that she learned came at great cost, not to herself but to others, considering that many things in Asshai were not…illegal. Jade had learned the human body intrinsically; the alchemy that she learned, of how amazing it was to put one and two together and get a whole new variable.

She had wanted to become deadly and when Lady Liopa saw her off at the port, she had been gifted a black mask, not unlike the mask Jade had taken to wearing around Asshai as was custom, but this mask was her graduation present if you will, for learning under a shadow binder and alchemist and completing your studies was cause for a mask of your own. While Jade was nowhere near the prowess of her mistress, to be recognized, to be acknowledged for her powers yet, well…she had gotten great satisfaction from that.

Jade has always had trouble with her thoughts, at times she has multiple thoughts and ideas all whirling around her mind like the whirlpools that are common in the east of Moraq’s rivers, but now that she has finally completed her lab, those whirling thoughts are silenced. It had taken her time, from her first arrival in Dorne, to the rebuilding and refurnishing of the Sandship for Jade’s lab to be completed. Many other things had taken precedence and she had to put her alchemy pursuits on hold while she contributed as she was now the Lady of the Sandship. Not just her new title but also being a mother, oh how she enjoyed it so, little Tyene and Sarella were like ducklings in water towards Jade and for that she was thankful. Nymeria slowly came around, but it did not surprise Jade because she knew the girl kept in contact with her mother in Volantis, albeit her mother seemed a little distant considering she was a noble woman who discarded her bastard daughter when it was time for her to marry.

_Tsked, distasteful really._

While Jade could understand, that did not mean she liked it, especially when Nymeria looked crestfallen when the letters from her mother had slowly started to become fewer and fewer.

_The Volantenes were always pompous idiots. Think their Black Walls are so mighty, First Daughter of Valyria my ass. Valyrians couldn’t even extend their reach to Moraq, Yi Ti or Leng. Hmph! We showed them what happens when they attempted to incur into the shadows unwelcomed._

Obara, however, was a girl after Jade’s own heart. So brash, so angry, all that raw potential and Jade wanted to put that to work. To show the girl, who reminded her of herself that the sword – or spear in this case – was not always the answer. That there was _more_ that she could do and use, to show her the way just as her own mama and brother did.

Which was why she had set up a dancing ceremony, with her ladies and even her good sister, Mellario and her niece, Arianne along with her stepdaughters of course. Tyene had been utterly pleased to know that her new mother, knew alchemy and poisons but without her lab at the time, Jade had been restricted in her teaching, only teaching the girl theory so far. The time for actual application had been slated for later once Jade herself got familiar with her new lab. Sarella had been eager to learn at Jade’s knees about theory also, but it just seemed like her youngest daughter liked knowing, any and everything.

Nymeria liked her daggers but Obara did not seemed much pleased and Jade understood that. She knows that all of Oberyn’s daughters adore him, some may say too much but Jade would just laugh away because all daughters should love their babas, especially if they are good babas who love their daughters and see them more than just their sex, like her own baba does.

But Jade was not one to give into defeat easy so as the day for the first quarry to be completed along with the canals leading to it was slowly arriving, Jade had planned this little dance for her daughters; that while they learned how to fight from their baba, words and hidden weapons were just as tactful.

Jade sat in her bedroom in front of her looking glass as her cousin, Ming Yue braided her hair, installing piece after piece of her elaborate accessories that were attached to her hair. It was a golden butterfly that acted as the main piece with silver crescent moons throughout, attached with small golden chains throughout her head, along with golden clasps at the end of her braids. Jade had four thin daggers hidden in her head, something she has long since been accustomed to, feeling their added weight comforted her. If Jade did not have her twin swords at her hips, then there was no doubt she had poison daggers hidden throughout her body. She was never unarmed, lest she was sleeping and even then she kept daggers near her bed.

Paranoia to some, but she knows just as her good sister Elia knows, to be forewarned is to be forearmed.

Her gown is white, as is her usual attire but there is a soft light blue material flowing throughout the gown, given the picture of a whirlpool. Jade liked watching the whirlpools in the Çevirmek River when she was growing up, so she likes the cool blue silks of Moraq in her wardrobe. Jade stood up from her seat, her steps as graceful and silent as ever; for every Han child is taught how to walk softly and gently. It makes one even more deadly and that is exactly what Hans are, what they must be for how else have they held on to power along with their YiTish and Lengii cousins for so long?

_It wasn’t easy by any means, but it was done. As always._

Others in Essos think those of them in the far east are bull-headed but Jade never minds their words because they had been the ones conquered and forced to cow themselves to dragons. What do they know of anything at all? _Nothing much,_ for they still hold onto slavery and while slavery is not illegal in Asshai, if a slave killed their master and took their riches and then hid behind a mask, well who is to say anything about that? For anything goes in Asshai. It is why many slaves escape to Asshai and the Shadowlands, for there is safety in anonymity, the exact same reason her brother had sent her there in the first place.

“Come along, Ming Yue.” Jade spoke softly to her cousin, a cousin she is most fond of. Their reunion when she returned to Moraq had been filled with wine and laughs along with male and female dancers.

“Will your husband be joining us cousin?” They were both conversing in Westerosi, for Jade to help her cousins better understand the language.

“No, I think he is with his brother, going over the festival for the quarry opening.” Jade thought about how busy Dorne was, even now though she does not doubt that Moraq isn’t busy also preparing for the welcoming of their new sultan and sultana. When her brother left, Jade had kowtowed to him in the YiTish fashion, her body lowered to the ground until her brother pulled her up. She did not know when she would see her brother again, but she bowed to him, for while she is a Princess of Dorne now, she will always be an Imperial Princess of Moraq, her brother’s only sister.

Dorne has had many celebrations, first with the mourning of the fallen soldiers of the Dragon King’s war, then with the return of Dorne's hostage princesses, Prince Doran making the announcement of Dornish independence once again, then with the double wedding and now this, but Jade has now gotten a sense of Dorne and she cannot grudge them for wanting to celebrate.

Why should the Dornish not celebrate when they have been scorned by their Westerosi counterparts, how can the others be mad at Dorne for securing its survival when the rest of Westeros have done nothing to help?

 _Hypocrites, the lot of them,_ she thinks harshly to herself as she walks down the corridors of the Sandship.

Oberyn had thought the Sandship was not a good gift at first, but Jade made him see that his brother only wanted him close with their sister traveling so far away. Even as the Sandship was under renovation before Jade had arrived in Moraq, while the outside of the palace was nothing to behold – not really – it was still a magnificent piece of work that held true to Dornish history. Jade of course had added tapestries, portraits of her family, from all from all sides – maternal and paternal – along with portraits of Oberyn's own family that remained hanging after she had them cleaned, furniture from the far east to decorate her new home and she was happy with the end result.

Jade thought about her husband as they went through the winding corridors of her new home, her husband had been unexpected in a way. Jade was happy to know Halil Pasha died at her brother’s hands, for not just overreaching with her brother’s education but also by trying to take Jade for his own son – an ugly boy if Jade has ever seen one – which had been a foolish thing to do anyway.

When Jade had met Oberyn for the first time she had been relieved, for he was not ugly, no not at all. Jade had already heard of the Red Viper of Dorne, a man who poisons his enemies and she had been gleeful, for a man who loved poisons just as she did! Not that Jade doubted their match would be good, for the gods written it so in the stars, but getting to know Oberyn had also been rewarding too.

Just like her mama did when she first met him, Jade had looked at her betrothed, taking measure of him before she managed to pull him away from their siblings and they walked around the Sandship discussing what they both wanted out of each other. Oberyn had been sure that she would give him fierce daughters for daughters are what he seems to throw in women, but Jade did not care either way. Children were children and when Jade made mention about legitimizing his four daughters, he only shook his head, saying Obara and Nymeria did not seek to be princesses. He spoke about how there was freedom in bastardy especially in Dorne and Essos, considering the current relationship between Dorne and the Iron Throne, Westerosi opinions did not matter much at all in Dorne anymore not like they ever really had in the beginning anyway.

Jade had thought if they did not wish to be princesses then why not ladies instead, but Obara and Nymeria were not interested. Jade respected their wishes and left it alone, though Tyene and Sarella were still young yet, considering how close Tyene was with her cousin, Arianne, Jade did not know what her little blonde daughter wanted to do in the future. Sarella seemed more happy in books than anything else also, so it appeared to Jade that the children she had with Oberyn would be the only ones holding princely titles in the end – though the others are welcome to change their mind should they find someone and need to up their ranks for a suitable marriage if they so desire.

Oberyn made her laugh and they discussed their notes on different poisons and Jade introduced him to alchemy, the chemistry of life and how it could be used to extract answers from men and women alike. That was Jade’s specialty, getting information from people who _thought_ they had no information to give. There was always information that could be given, contrary to popular belief and Jade learned in Asshai firsthand how to get it.

After walking in the corridors for a few minutes, they arrived at golden doors that opened into a small inside courtyard, with multiple doors opened that faced the outside court that held the sounds of nature and the sounds of waves crashing. The Emerald Courtyard was slowly becoming her favorite place to sit, as it acted like an intermediary between both inside and outside. The doors being made up of stained glass that easily opened that allowed one to overlook the gardens in the courtyard that had been Prince Consort Maron’s own private garden that he tended.

Jade thought it a shame her good father died before she had ever met him, a man known for his deadly poisons who passed it on to his youngest son. Inside the courtyard, Jade could see familiar instruments of the zither, guzheng, guqin and the pipa along with the erhu though the song she had in mind did not call for it.

Her ladies were already in the room and Jade greeted them cordially, “Clara, Tsuna.” They were all dressed the same, in white with different accessories, though Clara, Tsuna and Ming Yue wore different secondary colors compared to her blue. Soft pinks and purples between them to offset her own blue. Her cousins had always liked to match one another, for it showed they were family and a group of close friends.

Jade motioned for her Shadow Guard to line themselves up against the wall, their masks glinting in the sunlight as other members of her Moraqi court sat around in front of the instruments, five young men, who Jade took for her own to sponsor them in the arts of music and poetry. She was a woman of many talents and did not intend to let one aspect of her life suffer for another.

Moraq has always been a place of sponsorship for the arts of music and lore, especially given the temple and imperial academy that sat on top of the Weeping Mountains, it would be hard not to. Jade stood in the middle of the courtyard, her white gown pooling at her feet, as she slowly stretched, not wanting any aching muscles later in the evening.

Jade could hear the patter of feet before a young voice called out, “Mama!” She only turned around in time before her legs were crushed by Tyene who was staring up at her adoringly, her daughter’s eyes were wide as she took in the courtyard, obviously wondering what was going on.

“My little Zehir,” Tyene laughed at her nicknamed, for her love of poisons, Jade dubbed her ‘zehir’ the Moraqi word for venom. “I figured today would be a nice day to relax before the excitement of the quarry began.”

After the first quarry was opened, the canals would continue being built, with all the materials and laborers flowing in from Essos, even some ex-slaves that Jade had secretly sponsored in Asshai had been brought over to start a new life in Dorne. Jade had used her own funds to have apartments built, in the Moraqi fashion that mirrored the laborers who lived in Moraq. The canals would connect to some of the wells that the high houses in Dorne already had, thus connecting water all throughout Dorne. There would be no more fighting for water rights, it was one more thing to endear House Martell to the houses sworn to them.

Jade and Mehmed had both agreed that their new brother, Doran was quite brilliant in his manipulations. He sent ten thousand men to his enemy for his own sister, oh she is sure Mehmed quite enjoys Doran, more than he does Oberyn for his slight eccentrics. Though it could be that Doran and Mehmed had relatively done the same thing for their own sister’s safety, which if why Jade likes Elia more than she does Mellario though her good sister is a sweet enough woman, she understands Elia more than Mellario that’s all.

_Though I am still disappointed she didn’t let me take that wolf’s womb and turn it into a wasteland just as that dragon tried to do to Elia’s. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, I say. Why spare an enemy when you can kill them and be done with it? These Westerosi confuse me still. Though Elia did not mind her brother nor Mehmed trashing the Dragon King, so mayhaps she is not as forgiving as I thought her to be._

“Will you dance, mama?” Tyene had been very curious about the different dances that Jade knows and this was also another purpose she wanted her daughters to see. So many opportunities to kill someone without being blood thirsty, some may call this trickery, but Jade thinks it is just sound logic.

“Yes, indeed I shall. Why don’t you have a seat and eat some sticky buns, hm?” Obara had grabbed her sister’s hand after looking at Jade curiously before Nymeria grabbed Sarella and followed suit with Arianne following them both, leaving her mother to trail behind.

Jade smiled at Mellario, “I am glad you could make it, I did not know if your duties would bind you but I figured us ladies needed a break from all the chaos going on.”

Thankfully, her new sister smiled back, obviously happy to get away from her courtly duties if only for a little while. “Yes, thank you. I cannot wait for things to finally settle. It is coming towards a year since everything happened and I will be quite glad to turn the page onto something new.”

Jade nodded her head and waved her hand for the doors to be closed, she studied where her guards were placed before she walked back towards the center of the courtyard, with her three cousins standing around her forming a circle.

The musicians already knew which song to play, it was ‘The Tale of Khalsa’ of the Moraqi god of redemption and vengeance. It was fitting, because while some men sought revenge far too often, Jade was more a fan of vengeance, of getting the equal amount returned of what’s due. There is no need for upsetting the balance, just striking out and getting what’s yours, for the moment you become greedy is the moment you fall. She laughed silently to herself, mayhaps she should send it to that Dragon King, it was a well worth lesson he could stand to learn.

As the music began, her ladies began to move in the circle, with Jade dancing in the middle as the singer, Qizu began with her voice flowing through the room.

This routine has been done many times, for it is one of Jade’s favorite tales and dance, her cousins learned alongside her growing up, so their movements are smooth and in sync. The focus of Moraqi dances is to flow just like the willow trees in the breeze, to move like water and be as gentle and light on your feet.

Her sleeves are loose and airy as she moves them, dipping when a certain zither cord is played, in sync with her cousins and just for a moment she is reminded of her childhood. Of standing in front of the large looking glass in her brother’s palace and dancing through the routine many times until she got it correct.

As Jade dances, she slips a hidden dagger loose from her right arm and throws it discreetly towards a guard, all the while she keeps dancing. She is not surprised from her quick glance that no one noticed, as that _is_ the purpose of dances like these. For a group of women and sometimes even men to dance in a private room of enemy soldiers and kill them all just as silently. Some may think it distasteful, but so long as your enemy dies, why care about the specifics of how its done?

The music sets the tone and as the beat gets more complicated, so too does her throws. There are eight guards in the courtyard with two guards posted on each wall, a small distance in between them but Jade does not find this to be a problem. She has many hidden daggers hidden in her sleeves, which is why she likes gowns fashioned in this way the best. As she twirls and kicks her feet out, with her head bowed she throws another dagger, this time towards her left to Creon specifically.

This continues in the same fashion before she moves her arms upward over her head, taking one of the longer daggers from her head and throws it towards Heron while hiding behind Clara. Jade has always fashioned her hair so that her curls and braids do not rely on her hidden daggers, but clips hidden behind her other jewels in her hair. She follows the rhythm of the song, dancing in between her ladies, filtering in and out like a flickering flame in the night with a breeze in the room.

Another hair dagger is taken and this time she throws it at Heron, Jade does not turn her head to see if he has caught it because she knows that he has. Jade has practiced this exercise many times with her guards, they know how to discreetly work even in a room full of people, that is the purpose of the Shadow Guard. To always be there but not be seen, not in the way others think. To be as silent as an encroaching shadow but allowing nothing to be seen to alert those of the danger they are placed in.

Jade remembered seeing how some of those westerlanders and even the Kingsguards looked at the Shadow Guard suspiciously, but she found that loud clanking armor to be a stupid thing and surely would alert enemies that you are nearby. Their guards rarely talked in public or to outsiders, especially when it is not needed, more often then not they used sign language to communicate with one another, though it is based on the ancient Moraqi language, which is infinitely more complicated than the language spoken now after the marriages between Moraq, Yi Ti and Leng.

As her final two daggers are thrown towards Jazu, the music finally dies down. Sarella seemed to be leaning forward on the table, while Tyene’s mouth was full of the sticky buns, Jade had them cooked and brought for them to snack on. Nymeria seemed just as interested while Obara was squinting her eyes at Jade, obviously having seen something but not knowing exactly what she saw.

“Tell me my dears, what did you see?” Jade asked patiently, as she studied the five faces in front of her, her stepdaughters and niece.

“You…dancing…obviously,” Obara stated bluntly.

At this point, Jade let out a soft laugh before she waved her guards forward and they all stood behind her, each guard’s soft armor for the day being pierced by her daggers. She had been careful not to aim for their heads, her daggers were piercing the centerpieces of their chest. Some just above their hearts, but if this had been for real, she would have poisoned her audience's cups and then danced, so that the others would not notice their friend passed out, who was really in fact dead.

Jade could hear gasps as the girls looked at her guards, noticing the small daggers and even long daggers on her close guards’ armor.

“How is that possible?!” Obara demanded at once, her face slowly twisting in frustration which showed Jade she had been watching, but she did not see all that Jade had done. That is the purpose of dancing in a group, disguising yourself within the others. Hiding in plain sight if you will.

Seeing her most stubborn daughter’s insistence made Jade want to pinch her cheeks, because she was just so cute when she scowled. When Jade learned about the background of all her new daughters, she was surprised by how much shame Oberyn seemed to carry about the way he had taken Obara from her mother, a whore from Oldtown. Oberyn had not been gentle with Obara and he rectified that when he had first gotten his other three daughters, but she knew he regretted his harsh approach but there was no time to lament anymore.

While Nymeria is growing into a beautiful girl, obviously her Volantene mother had good looks, Oberyn is a handsome man. Tyene is a little angel with the inner workings of a demon when she is angered which will work well, considering her innocent appearance. While Sarella is all books, with those viper eye shape they all seem to have from their father, her youngest daughter is always thirsty for knowledge. It is Obara though, that she knows struggles within herself, trying to find herself in such a large family and how she was previously raised.

Jade thinks that Obara does not see her beauty, for Jade has seen this enough in Leng, fortunately; of women and even men appearing as the opposite gender, or not quite either of them. Obara is androgynous in appearance looking more like her baba when she is in her sparring clothes, though Jade has never seen the girl in a gown.

_That could change however, she has long legs, mayhaps the Lengii fashion with Dornish colors will suit her._

“The purpose of dances like this one, is to entrance your audience, to draw them in like a moth to a flame, like shadows with light.” Jade stated patiently before continuing, “in some cases, you may not be allowed to carry your weapons with you or at least openly, which is why you should always be armed with _something_ , either poisoned daggers or just poison alone. In Asshai, some assassins keep false teeth filled with poison to avoid detection when they have assassination jobs.”

Though that needs proper training, you must ingest certain kinds of poisons slowly over time to build up an immunity to it, like her husband has done and his own father had also done before him.

“Awesome!” Tyene almost appears bugged eyed and Jade laughed as she patted her head in fondness.

“Yes, like myself, I keep my daggers unattached in my hair, so that when I do remove them, my hair does not shift, and I accidentally give myself away. Mistakes like that can be fatal, little ones.”

Jade flicked her eyes towards her sister, Mellario but the Princess Consort does not seem disturbed by Jade’s topic of conversation, so Jade continued.

“Tell me, do you all know who the first spies were?” 

When Jade had learned this lesson, she had laughed herself silly when her mama taught her, along with her baba that women should not be underestimated, along with men too.

“I don’t know, Lady Misery?” Nymeria threw out a random answer and while the Lady Misery was a good answer, it was not the correct one.

“No, the first spies were whores and courtesans.”

The girls got silent and she could see Obara’s face harden, _ah, the girl does not care for her mother and its been noted she hates Oldtown. There is so much hatred to be had, for your enemies most of all, there is no need to waste that energy on something as simple as this._

“Yes, indeed. Depending on who you ask, some whores and courtesans can bring down great men alike. King Aegon the Unworthy ruined his reign with his whoring and indecisive decisions. Look at the Black Pearl of Braavos, Bellonara Otherys. One of the highest courtesans in Essos who can trace her lineage back to that Unworthy King.”

Jade chuckled as she heard the scoff at the mention of the dragon king, while Dorne held no love for Targaryens, only the Good King Daeron and Daenerys Martell were spoken without disdain in Dorne anymore.

“When they would be cheated out of their gold, when men would take them against their will and be brutes, it was those very women who would seek out those men's enemies and make a bargain with them. Sell them information in exchange for their deaths.”

Jade has been working long and hard, seeking out whores not just in Dorne but in the rest of Westeros as well, for if her husband was ‘Hand of the King’ – in this case, Hand of the Prince – then Jade thought herself to be her new king’s spymaster. It was something she was good at and there was no need for Jade to strictly stick to her official courtly duties.

“In Moraq, we are taught that everyone has a role, everyone has a position to play. From the whores who lie with men in the ports so that we know of who is coming and going in our empire. From the laborers who travel throughout the provinces so that we know how wisely and justly they are being ruled, even to the scholars in the imperial academy so we know that the education of our future generation is not squandered. Everyone has a role and must play it with due diligence.”

In Moraq the Han children were taught to be as merciful as they were cruel, House Han had no house words, but Jade would say that that was their unofficial official one, or at least their mantra. Hans followed their gods, especially Amir, the creator of man and life itself. Amir had brought down his own siblings when they thought themselves too large for the roles he had given them, daring to seek more than what he gave freely, he had put upon them with anger and dragged them to the Underrealm where they lived now for all eternity, with him keeping guard over them. Such is the price for such hubris and disobedience from your god. Yet, Amir still loved his siblings and allowed them to have the skies to give their words to man, by allowing Atlas to still reign in the skies and stars even in the Underrealm.

Hans compromise like Amir, but when put to the test they are willing to go beyond that to ensure everyone remains on the same page. _It is tricky business, but it works, nonetheless._

“You must all think of the position you want to play as you grow older, how to help your family and your kingdom and learn to do it well, yes? You are the future generation and gods willing while your uncle and father rule this kingdom, you all take the time to ensure that when it comes upon your turn to rule and help this kingdom in any capacity, you shall do it well and with due diligence, always.” Her words are tilted by her Moraqi accent, but she smiled at the children benignly.

Jade stared down at all the children, stressing the fact, especially to Obara and Arianne. For Obara is the eldest out of them all and Arianne will one day rule Dorne after her father. Her comments seemed to have sobered the girls, but she clapped her hands and smiled, and the music began once again.

“Little Zehir, why don’t you try to learn a few steps while I talk to your elder sister.”

Her cousin, Ming Yue waved the girl forward while Clara was collected Jade’s daggers from her guards as they began to settle back into their positions they held previously against the wall.

“Okay.” Jade watched her cousin, who made no grimace at her daughter’s sticky fingers from the buns she was eating on. Tyene had waved Arianne forward, obviously not wanting to leave her favorite cousin behind in the activities. Nymeria seemed more interested then the words Jade would have with Obara, so she left them also while pulling Sarella up with her.

_Thank the gods these little snakes are perceptive enough._

Mellario seemed content to just recline in her chair, her feet propped up on her daughter’s former seat as she relaxed, rubbing a soothing hand over her pregnant belly. Jade sat down next to Obara, and she drunk a sip of cooled black-berry tea.

“Even after all these months you are still distrustful of me and I understand that. You are the eldest sibling of your baba’s clutch. I see the way you are always looking after them, sneaking into your uncle’s solar to sneak books back to Sarella to read, though even you struggle with the words. Of how you spar with Nymeria and cover the small nicks she makes in your skin when she is not careful with her daggers. Or even little Tyene, who you carry on your back at night when she is tired from Arianne’s rooms.”

Because understanding a child who loves their siblings is such an easy thing to comprehend and admire. Obara is a fierce thing, not one who is easily placated like Oberyn himself and she can only smile at the similarities that shine through.

“You are much like your uncle and aunt, when it comes to the care of your baby siblings, I admire that. You are like my big brother also, he spoiled me growing up, but I never took advantage of it. All I wanted growing up was to be acknowledged by my brother in my own right, you know?”

Jade uses her right index finger to trace the sapphire ring on her left index finger, with its siyah band that reminded those in her Moraqi court and her legion of guards that her brother made her his imperial ambassador. That when he lifted her from her kowtow, he kissed her forehead and slipped this ring on her finger, before proclaiming her his imperial ambassador and that she is his eyes and ears in Westeros. Jade’s heart had stuttered twice before she bowed once more that time in the Moraqi fashion with her feet together and her head bowed lowly. Her brother had placed his large hand at the top of her head, just like when she was a child and gave her a secretive smile. She always knew she would not remain in her empire, but her brother giving her this ring before he left for Moraq made her feel at peace with her marriage and decision.

“I have to protect them,” Obara answers softly, more softly than Jade has ever heard before.

“Why do you wish to protect them?”

“What do you mean why? They are my siblings! It is my duty, my Uncle Doran went to war for my Aunt Elia, I would do the same for my own,” Obara hissed out, her small fist clenching the table.

“Do you wish to learn how to be more than just a spear? For you see now that just having a spear will not always do you good. You must be versatile in your training and I do not mean with just weapons. Learning how to dance, learning how to look underneath the underneath and stare into the abyss and not be afraid of what stares back at you from the shadows. Do you wish to learn?”

Jade turned her body towards Obara, her honeyed orbs peering into black ones, Obara’s face faltered from the tense lines before she slowly released her hands from the table and bowed her head.

“Yes.”

Jade gave her a tug at the lips, the very one her brother usually gives, and she leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her daughter’s forward, her hands rubbing against her lone braid.

“Then you shall learn.”

Jade is a selfish woman, she knows that to be true, but these four girls are hers, now and always, just like how Mehmed and her belong to Lady Mara. These babes did not come from her loins, but they all have raw potential to be reached and as Jade is ever dutiful, she shall see to it that they become the women she knows they can be: deadly, brilliant, beautiful, and resilient. So that just like Jade, when they grow up, they can fill the role in what they choose and do so well, for if Dorne succeeds in wealth and prosperity, then so too does Moraq.

Posted: 07/26/2020

Edited: 07/26/2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter we learned that Obara is a grumpy cat but if you give her enough cream, she's down for the ride. 
> 
> I pretty much headcanon that at the end of this, it'll all go like this:
> 
> Arianne: Fufufufu, I am ready for world domination.  
> Tyene: First things first, we need to make sure your coronation outfit looks great.  
> Sarella: Are there any books on world domination, uncle?  
> Obara: I'm just here to make sure shit doesn't hit the fan.  
> Jade: atta girls!
> 
> Jade is pretty much gonna take the Sand Snakes and ramp their personas all the way the fuck up. Somebody go buy some 'Just for Men' for Doran because those gray hairs are gonna be showing in a few year's time.


	26. Lost in an Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elia and Co. arrive in Moraq. Elia finds out she has a special talent for making people laugh, even when she doesn't think what she says is funny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title of this chapter was taken from "Salt Water: by Raveena.

Her arrival in Great Moraq had left her in awe as she studied her new surroundings, it was Elia’s own belief that Dorne was the most beautiful kingdom in Westeros – personal bias aside – but from what she has seen of Essos, Great Moraq holds a picturesque view also.

Port Moraq was just as clean as the ports in Dorne, taking special care not to have the docks polluted with waste and Elia admired her surroundings during their trek that had begun in a carriage – at least for her ladies, Deria, Lady Mara and herself – to the moment they stepped out of it as she took notice of the canal that seemed to enter one portion of the palace. It's blue water sparkling as people waved to one another and looked on. The canal had small boats floating throughout, Mehmed had told her it was quite easier for business to be conducted if people could simply hop onto a boat and be carried, then having to trek through the palace. Of course, it seemed like the palace had multiple palaces within one.

Just like in Dorne, with the Sunspear and Sandship, two separate entities but also one at the same time, it seemed like there was two separate palaces within this massive one. The first palace, Beylerbeyi Palace, was the palace they took a small boat on, to carry them up the canal as they passed the ‘administration’ building, where pashas, generals, scholars, and even the grand vizier was housed in, along with the Moraqi throne. Both palaces had black walls, from what Elia had been told and from what she saw when she entered Topkapu, as the Shadow Guard seemingly stepped next to the walls and disappeared from view. Her eyes had widened at that, but Mehmed just told her its one of the ancient secrets of Moraq and just left it at that. The second palace, Topkapu Palace was the palace of the sultan and his immediate family, where the royal children were raised before they began schooling in the surrounding provinces. 

Mehmed had told her that that last piece of information was recently new for the last few years, the provinces surrounding Moraq City were held for royal children that aspired to the throne, so that they were near their family. Elia had the correct suspicion that it was to thwart what had happened to Mehmed under his own pasha, when he lived farther away from his parents. It soothed her at the thought of any hypothetical sons that they had would be protected, especially that Deria’s own future province and keep was not far from her either but Elia suspects Mehmed had that done with purpose. Elia would drive herself to the bone and marrow if Deria lived far from her.

Moraq City stood tall over the ports, that was not including the wide roads that had been laid with stone. Elia had read of the Valyrian roads throughout the Old Valyria’s empire and even some of the remaining roads in Essos and she could see from the wide roads and how easy it was to traverse over them, that it shortens the time it takes to go from one point of a journey to another.

Her husband told her that during the week she would see the most of the palaces as they prepared for their ascension as the new ruling sultan and sultana; but that afterwards they would make a progress of not just Moraq but also sail across the seas to present themselves to both the ruling royals in Leng and Yi Ti.

Everyone in her household had dressed simple, as Elia would be seeing her good father informally before their evening meal later in the day. Her ladies would begin unpacking and maids and servants would begin installing Elia’s wardrobe and items in Mehmed’s rooms just as they had done when they married and began sharing a bed in Dorne.

Her orange gown was simple, nothing too gaudy as she sat in a lounge room with Deria at her side and Mehmed lounging on a chaise. Her husband waved away propriety as he himself was tired from their voyage, he had been so eager to return home he essentially hounded the captain on the ship once they left Volantis.

Luckily for Elia, her daughter was relaxed at her side, flipping through some tome that Mehmed had given her about some of the infamous ladies and princesses of Moraq. Elia herself could not say the same, as she could feel the tension in her body for it was almost unbearable. They had all assured her, that Sultan Mehmet was kind and that he would like Elia and Deria, but Elia still felt unsure. Her nerves were prickly at best and shot to one of the Seven Hells are worst.

Elia leaned over and picked up her cup of tea, almost wishing it were wine instead, but she has been abstaining from wines in the hope of getting with child. As she let the honeyed taste soothe her nerves she tried to relax even further, she herself knows that being stressed is in no way conducive to getting with child. It had only been a month since she stopped taking the wild carrot tea that had been given, but her moonblood has not come yet for this new moon – though her moonblood has never really come regularly and so she cannot tell for sure. She will have to wait at least two more moons before truly knowing when she sees a healer to get confirmation.

Lady Mara left them in this sitting room to have a private reunion with her husband, not that Elia blames her but she sorely wishes her good mother was here now, if only to give Elia some faith that everything would go well. Elia had been able to charm and make Mehmed fall in love with her, she had gotten Lady Mara to entrust her with the position of being a sultana and the wife of her only son. Elia had luck before with Rhaella, they were two women who understood each other and had a foundation because of the love they shared for Elia’s mother and their familial ties. But now, all Elia can think about is Aerys and how shit her relationship with him was, if one could even call it that.

Aerys never liked her, only seeing her as a womb to continue the Targaryen dynasty; now looking back on it Elia could almost laugh at his stupidity for believing that her Dornishness would ruin any children she would give Rhaegar. The irony was not lost on her because in the end, it had been Elia's own Dornishness that saved her, that saved her daughter because she is not foolish enough to believe it made Mehmed more accepting that her daughter was a reflection of her. Oh, he had already had the parchments signed for Deria to have her own province and making her a Han Princess, but Elia wonders if he felt relief when he saw Rhaegar at Casterly Rock and was pleased that her little sun had no features of Rhaegar in her. At the time of her daughter’s birth, Elia surely had been, to see herself in her own babe had been the second gift of having a babe in her arms. Aerys and Rhaegar had almost brought down their own family dynasty, had spit on their own Dornish ancestry and for what? She really did not know; _madness_ her mind whispers, is what she believes it to be about.

Aerys sense of humor had been born of darkness and cruelty, delighting in seeing people under the heel of his boot and laughing at their pain. From all the information she has gathered, she knows Sultan Mehmet is not a perfect man, no man is, that she knows but he is a **_good_** man. But just like Elia is bias against the other kingdoms of Westeros, she knows that Mehmed, Lady Mara, and Jade all speak from a place of personal bias. Yet, Elia took them into account as she waited with bated breath as the doors to the room opened.

Mehmed did not move from his spot on the chaise he was laying on, it was the first time that Elia has really seen him look so relaxed outside of their bed at night. Deria looked up from her tome and shifted closer to her mother, as Elia herself stared at her good family.

It only took a quick glance to assess that Mehmed was his father’s son, through and through just like Deria’s was her daughter through and through. Sultan Mehmet had teak colored curls, with some grays flittered throughout, but he was just as handsome as his son. Elia could see why Lady Mara had been so smitten when she first met the then Prince Mehmet when he was in her province and they had become friends first before lovers.

If this was how Mehmed would look later in his years, then Elia quite eagerly looked forward to growing old with him by his side. Her mother had aged gracefully and her father still looked to be in his prime even in his older years. Sultan Mehmet had the same colored eyes as both his son and daughter, the same tanned skin that did not seem to come from the sun but more of a mixture of Moraqi, Lengii and YiTish ancestry. He wore a black kaftan and his curls touched his shoulders, the length a little bit more than Mehmed’s own. His beard and mustache were also teak colored but there was grayer hair in his beard, but his face was relaxed as Lady Mara was tucked into his side.

As she stared at the two of them, Elia stood on principle and bowed as she greeted them both, “Your Graces.”

The tea that she had consumed seemed to have been wasted as Elia felt like wringing her hands, because her good father’s gaze was potent, the same way Mehmed had looked at her when he first saw her – analyzing and cataloging – and she felt all the more nervous from it.

“Tsk! No need for such formalities Elia, you know that.” Lady Mara softly chided her as she stepped away from her husband, lightly slapping her son’s head as she rounded the table to sit down, pulling Deria next to her who giggled at her grandmother.

Elia was still standing, rigid in form, her hands were held tightly at her stomach, but every second that passed, it felt like her stomach was dropping to the floor and would surely end up in the bowels of the palace the longer time went on as her good father stared at her. Elia wanted to tear her eyes away from his but she is not a coward, she won’t be cowed by another good father, she has had enough of hateful good fathers to last her for one lifetime alone, thank you very much.

She watches as her good father slowly smiles and she swears she becomes even more wary of the tall man before her, she can feel sweat beginning to form on her skin, a drop even falling into the waistline of her gown. Her heart is beating much too quickly for her personal taste and she feels a bit nauseous now that she thinks about it, but she still stands.

_Mehmed made me nervous the first time we met; I would not expect his father to be any different. It might it even worry me even more if it didn't._

“Please, daughter, sit.” Her good father spoke in a soft tone, mayhaps he took note of her rigidness because he offered her a hand and it was as warm as her husband’s.

Still, when he touched her hand, she flinched and she hoped he did not notice but considering they were touching, that hope was for nothing and Elia flushed a little in embarrassment. Aerys had never touched her, no he considered her too Dornish, her Targaryen ancestry just barely meeting his ‘standards’. But he did not need to touch her, she remembers the way his long-yellowed nails would be pointed at her as he stayed either on his throne or at table for their evening meal that she was forced to attend with him. He would point his fingers and that alone had made Elia feel as though he raked his nails upon her olive skin. His eyes, those cursed eyes that still follow her in her dreams – nightmares at times – were always judging and saying she wasn’t good enough. No, Aerys never touched her, not even to give her a small mercy as helping her be seated but physical touches mean nothing compared to the emotional slaps and hits, she took from the dead man.

Aerys never even called her daughter either, only Rhaella had and Elia suspected her distant cousin had done it for the same reason she had held Deria when she was presented to the court, as a strike against her brother-husband, no matter how infantile it had been.

 _Just like Mehmed is not Rhaegar, Mehmet is not Aerys._ Elia had to remind herself to discard her thoughts about silver haired men who do not deserve to have her thoughts, as she stands in the present and should not dolly in the past, not when it is not welcome to think upon.

“I thank you, father.” She speaks clearly, but she honestly wishes she could lay down in bed, to curl up on herself in a ball and drown out the world.

How odd those words fell from her lips and she’s reminded of her father, of his wide grins and soft hands, how he would card his fingers through her long curls and braid her hair with all the meticulous he would plan a battle. How he would have silk ribbons laid out and ask his daughter which one she wanted him to tie her hair with, Elia almost always choose a matching ribbon that corresponded to her papa’s own attire. The way her father’s eyes were dark, but there was a deep dark blue that ringed around them, whispers spoke of how common that blue was, a gift of being kissed by Mother Rhoyne herself.

Elia had thought herself ready and she was, just not with her good father, as the tension was still in her body as she sat down, sweat still forming on the skin of her back and her stomach twisted once again. Her eyes briefly wonder over to her husband’s, and she is startled because just a moment before his eyes were closed as he laid in peace. Now however, that is not the case. His gaze is more familiar than the one that had been previously peering at her and so she meets his head on, noticing the way he tilts his head as if he was to verbally ask a question, but Elia subtly shakes her head as she reaches for her cup of tea.

If her hand trembles a bit as she does so, well no one says anything.

It makes her feel bad that she is acting this way with her new good father and she hopes that he is as patient and kind as she had been told and allows her to become comfortable around him, although she knows it will have to be quick, as their evening meal with be quickly approaching as Elia meets more members of the Han family.

“What is your name little one?”

Elia startles once again as Deria looks up from her place by Lady Mara and Elia and for a brief moment, Elia wants to place her daughter in her arms, to clutch her body to her own and to hide her away but she knows it is useless.

“Deria,” her daughter answers, a little bolder after her time spent following around her eldest cousin, Obara.

A smile blooms across her face, because yes, it had been very good for Deria to be around her cousins, especially Obara who despite her nature had been kind enough to coax her daughter’s shyness out of her. Oh, she was still shy, but she was growing bolder everyday and Elia knew she would have to send a great gift for her eldest niece for the thanks in helping Deria come into her own.

“A pretty name, for a pretty girl, if I must say so myself. Tell me, how has my son been behaving? He’s always been the miscreant for trouble.”

At this, Elia can clearly here Mehmed groan and he sulks into his chaise as he throws a glare at his father. If there was any tension in the room, it was lifted as Deria shoved herself away from her grandmother and threw the fiercest scowl, Elia has ever seen (barring Obara who she is sure she learned this from, her niece is always scowling in one form or another) on her daughter’s face.

“That’s not true! I know what miscreant means. Baba is a good man, he gave me Keza and Hyza! He gave me many tomes, some of his own and he even made me a princess and makes mama happy!”

“Thank you, Princess for the defense, my honor is safeguarded once again.” Elia watched as her daughter blushed at Mehmed’s words, Rhaegar had praised her daughter – when he got time away from his own tomes and prophecies to see to her. Which, wasn’t all that much but Elia has always tried to overcompensate to her daughter to make up from those shortcomings. Oberyn and Doran had done well with encouraging her daughter and Mehmed has obviously taken up the mantle gladly from their hands.

Elia blinked owlishly, somewhat surprised because she did not realize how high of an opinion her daughter had formed about her stepfather. It was good to know, especially considering it looked like she was his staunchest supporter at this current moment in time.

“Oh? Then it seems we raised him right. Though tell me, what does a young girl like you know of such big words?” Her good father seemed utterly enthralled with her daughter, something she did not think would happen, but her daughter was a good charmer.

Her daughter surprisingly rolled her eyes, “from Sarella of course! She’s very, very smart. Uncle Oby says she is like a viper in the sands. Uncle Oby is smart too. He forged links at the Citadel, did you know? Though Uncle Doran says that that doesn’t matter because he didn’t finish. Uncle Doran is smart too, uncle Oby says he is the smartest man he knows...but he didn’t sound happy about that.”

This, Elia snorts at because more than likely, her daughter heard her brothers bickering once and even Lady Mara laughs. Her body is slowly relaxing in her seat, as she continues drinking her tea, keeping the small cup in her hands, soaking in the warmth as she sits idly as her daughter keeps talking, surprisingly. Telling her new grandfather about her birds – the prettiest birds in Deria’s opinion – and how they sing to her in the morning; telling stories of how Mehmed had put Deria on top of his own warhorse when Mehmed had taken them to the beaches on evening a few days before they had left Dorne.

She feels pitiful that she is glad the attention is off of her and now on her daughter who doesn’t seem afraid of Mehmet, but mayhaps that is because he looks like the older version of Mehmed and since her daughter is already inclined towards her stepfather it is easy to become inclined towards her grandfather. It jars her that she is alright that Mehmed looks so much like his father, when she had been relieved that her Egg who looked so much like Rhaegar did not live. It was not fair for her to have those thoughts against an innocent and she tells herself she shall pray in the evening to be forgiven and that her baby boy is safe in the Stranger's realm. 

Elia sits silently as she listens to her daughter speak, it would jar her if she wasn’t so surprised by how well her daughter speaks, but she had septas on Dragonstone and Elia herself to raise her. Considering who her good father had been, Elia raised her daughter trying to teach her the most and best of everything, to keep her safe from Aerys. If her daughter performed well with her septas then Aerys could not make comment about her smarts, though he disparaged them with ugly comments about their skin and hair anyway. Elia learned to fight her battles smartly, especially when it came to Aerys.

“Such a smart girl, you are. A credit to our houses.”

At this both Elia and Deria ducked their heads in similar fashions, but Deria was the first to recover as she went back to reading her tome, though her cheeks remained red. Elia knows that her daughter will be wanting to write letters to her cousins, especially Obara and Sarella. One who she admires greatly for her fierceness and the other who she admires for her intelligence. No doubt, her daughter will be telling them both of everything she is seeing while in her new home, which in turn will be told to Tyene, ever the gossip, which will flow to Oberyn and thus Doran. Elia had joked about her niece being Arianne’s Mistress of Whispers when she came into being the Ruling Princess of Dorne, but now she is solidified in her thought process, especially when the Hans had first arrived and Elia had caught Tyene and Arianne gossiping about Mehmed with one another.

Her hands were still around her cup of tea, watching the steam rise from it before her attention is thwarted to her good father.

“My love, why don’t you go show Deria where her cousins are, better to introduce them now before dinner.”

Elia did not have enough time to catch her good mother attention before she smiled at her husband, grabbing onto one to Deria’s hands as she looked up from her tome in question. “Come along my sweet, I think you shall like the others. Lee, is much the scholar like you and Sarella are.”

Her daughter did not put up much protest, obviously trusting her grandmother but her daughter looked back and waved at Elia and Elia returned it, no matter the sinking feeling that returned as she watched her daughter and good mother leave. She was not fearful because she knows Mehmed will protect her, but it is hard sitting in the same room with two men who look so alike, it is like seeing double.

 _Is this what it feels like when Deria is sitting with me?_ She can recall Oberyn staring at the both strangling when they arrived back to Dorne after her annulment, before he stated that Deria was truly Elia’s reflection just as Elia was their mother’s.

“Tell me, do you fear me Elia?”

“No, I do not fear you…Mehmet.” It felt odd addressing her good father so informally, she almost cringed at it.

He sighed, looking first at his son then to Elia herself and then back to his son before he began to rub his beard in thought. Elia smiled softly as she finally knows where her husband learned that habit from. Her husband was still lounging on his chaise, his eyes were lazily gazing as he appraised his father and then Elia before relaxing once more.

“Mayhaps but you are wary of me,” her good father states.

Elia had balanced in between being wary and weary for a good amount of her time in King’s Landing and Dragonstone. Two of the very few emotional states she found herself in as she tried to plan her next move when she was so limited in her options.

“Yes, I would be a fool not to be. I know Mehmed, I love him. I know Lady Mara, I respect her. But you? I do not know, outside from what I have been told. All good things, but I know you are a man of your word just as much as Mehmed and I suspect he gets that from you also. You must forgive if I am wary of you, it is all for good reason. I have been hurt by a dragon’s fire too much for my taste, I do not wish to be snatched into an eagle’s talons any time soon.”

 _Here I go again, being blunt when I should have a little more tact._ Doran would probably be pleased, she knows her ancestor, Princess Meria is; Martells have a blunt tongue and at times it’s a blessing and other times a hindrance.

“Is that so? Tell me, do I resemble your former good father that much?”

“No, at least you groom yourself and your teeth and nails are not yellow.”

_Seven save me!_

Mayhaps it has been her time on the seas, or that day when she swam in the Rhoyne but she is obviously a changed woman because she would have never dared to be **_this_** blunt with her new good father, that she dares does this in her husband’s presence solidifies how much she trusts him in his protection of her.

_Or my wits have finally left me._

Mehmet watches her, before he barks out a loud booming laugh that reminds her of the one time, she heard Robert Baratheon laughing. It is thunderous and he even leans over to push Mehmed as he continues laughing.

Elia think she hears the man snort, but she cannot be sure as her husband begins to laugh too and she truly stares in wonder at both much. Their laughs are not the same, Mehmed’s has always been a bit smoother than the ones she previously encountered but they hold some semblance as they are both deep.

She finds herself pouting a bit as she drinks another sip of tea, feeling just like she did when she made Mehmed laugh the first time – a fool who had landed right side up – but she is pleased just as she was then to get not just Mehmed to laugh but also her good father.

“I see why my Mara is so taken with you or why my son is so besotted. Delightful! How delightful!” The co-sultan is still laughing, as he stands waving her away as she stands on propriety before sitting down again, but Mehmed finally gets up from the chaise and plops down next to her unceremoniously.

The laughter has died down, but Mehmet is still chuckling to himself as he leaves the room, saying nothing more and that only leaves Elia to turn towards her husband, with an arched eyebrow raised in question.

“I told you my family appreciates honesty. You may lie to the court but never to us. My father appreciates blunt honesty.”

_Oh joy, I think I just met Doran’s new friend. Poor Oby though._

“Should I go ahead and buy a fool’s costume then? I am so glad I can make you Han men laugh with glee,” her tone was sarcastic but she set her empty cup aside and leaned back into her cushioned seat and felt herself be pulled closer to the body next to her.

“No, this is a good thing. My father likes you, there are some cousins of ours he can barely tolerate. You did good, I knew you would.”

Her heart felt like it had been squeezed but with a pleasurable amount of pressure as she also felt her face heat up. _I have done more blushing in these past moons then I did as a child, ogling boys in the Water Gardens when I was young._ Elia clears her throat and she wishes for a bath; she is more than ready to explore the bathhouse that was built under the palace.

“Also feels nice to hear you declare your love for me, such a sweet princess I have married.” Elia can feel deft fingers trailing down her spine and she shivers.

“Of course, you would be, what man does not want to know that the woman he wed, and beds is in love with him?”

She licks her lips out of nervousness, tasting the faint taste of the leftover tea on her lips and tongue. The fingers on her spine disappear as she is pulled up from her seat, with Mehmed tucking her arm into his.

“You know, there is a Moraqi custom, where a newly wedded royal couple is gifted a mattress from their province. It is made from the finest downy within the three empires, it showcases the relationship between Moraq, Leng and Yi Ti.”

As they are walking towards the door, she stares up at Mehmed who seems even more relaxed then he had before. “No, I did not know that.” It hadn’t been mentioned in any of the tomes she read so far.

“I find myself wanting to nap before our evening meal, we should lie together and rest.” He whispers, bending his head down some and Elia stares around as servants pass them and bow their heads in acknowledgement.

For the past hour Elia had felt stress with her informal introduction to her good father, wondering idly it would not hurt to rid herself further of any stress before she meets the other members of the royal family.

“We will have to kick out the maids and servants of course. Lest we be woken from our naps.”

Elia had honestly thought her husband would be in a solar somewhere, locked away focusing on his ascension but when she mentioned it as they left the docks just earlier, he said all that would come tomorrow. He was just happy to be back home and looked forward to dining with his family and seeing Zaganos again. It was a further reminder of how different he was, that he did not have a single determination to him like her former husband, that he could take time away and still hold his family in priority. _Why he acts so surprise that I love him confuses even me, what is not to love?_

It shows how focused she is on this new task however, as she barely takes in her surroundings, instead opting to stare at her husband; she figures she can look around after she’s thoroughly pleased and fully rested

Posted: 08/02/2020

Edited: 08/02/2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, I have an idea for maybe a 10 chapter fic of Robert's Rebellion divergence fic with Elia/Jaime tag, with an SIOC (self insert-original character) dying and arriving in Elia's own body as she's killed and is transferred back in time right as Rhaegar rides off to meet Lyanna and they abscond with one another. It's a plot bunny I let roam around freely and now its plaguing me, well wish I could say sorry but I'm really not and I need more Elia/Jaime. 
> 
> I thought to make it where it happens right before Elia is killed, but I think the idea of Elia playing the long game and putting on the finest mummer's act that the world has even seen, to be much more exciting. So it'll be like a two years of Elia spinning her own web (1 year for rhaegar and lyanna being in dorne + 1 year for Bobby B's rebellion) and ensuring her and her kids live. It'll be so fucking cracked out, like Walter White level of pure blue but like I said this plot bunny decided to repopulate and now I got a gigantic fluffy bunny staring me in the face saying "Kae...write me...y'know ya want to" and I cannot deny myself, so sue me. 
> 
> Like it'll be crack, but more along the lines of some serious machinations going on behind the scenes as Elia pretty much says "you wanna play rough? O.K say hello to my little friend" and she's gonna end up on top with her golden knight right by her side, because fuck you canon that's why. 
> 
> excuse me, this is exactly what happens when you let plot bunnies run amok people! don't be like me, or your plot bunny shall double to the size of godzilla and you can no longer ignore it.
> 
> anyways, how ya'll been? lol


	27. Ascension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcoming of a new reign. Long may they reign.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I've had my wings for rent  
> I fly by accident  
> I've never been a saint; it's a lie."  
> Lost Bird, by Syd Matters
> 
> Elia Nymeros Martell, summed up by one sentence.

She had awoken early in the morning, before the sun and moon even exchanged a glance at one another, with the sky still dark on top of her husband – or at least partially. One of her legs was thrown in between his, as half of her upper body met his own chest, her nipples pressing against some portion of his warm skin with her left hand pressed against the sinewy muscles under his skin. The sweat from their lovemaking had cooled on her skin, as the sheets of their bed partially covered them while the medium weight duvet kept their lower bodies warm, and Elia could still feel her husband’s fingers on her spine. Her back was open to the cool air, but she did not mind, for her husband did indeed keep her warm and she burrowed herself further into his slumbering embrace.

The days since their arrival had been quite busy and busy didn’t really do justice to how much was happening all at once. So many people she had met, so many people she had met in Mehmed’s family alone. Cousins upon cousins upon cousins, all of them appearing to be some variant of the Hans she had seen so far in Mehmed and Jade and their father. Either from curls that were or were not teak colored, to the honeyed brown orbs she has come to love from her husband’s own gaze, to their tallness. Their sense of humor, or their lack thereof because they all thought Elia to be quite hilarious and she did not quite understand, it had taken her awhile to get use to Mehmed’s humor so she can only assume it will take more time to get use to the rest of her new family’s humor. Elia thought that if they found her so funny, then once Oberyn made a visit they would surely leave her alone and flock to him. He had always been the most boisterous and funniest out of the three of them.

 _Today is the day,_ she thinks to herself gently. She shall be crowned…again but this time without her brothers in attendance but she tries not to be saddened at the thought. She has no time to be sad really, for everyday there is something to do, a matter to see to or a goal or task to complete and accomplish. Even Deria, her little sun had taken everything in stride, so confident in her steps as she made space for herself amongst the little Han cousins.

She has taken a strong liking to Lee, the boy whom Lady Mara had told Elia about when she led Deria away so that Elia could speak to her good father alone. When Elia met the boy herself, she could see the Han attributes in him with his curls, though they were black instead of teak, almost like Elia’s own Rhoynish curls. He would be a tall boy, Elia had speculated because his mother was Lengii and already he was a tall and willowy boy, his skin was a bit paler than the tanned skin of his other cousins too.

Elia had just been happy that her daughter was settling though she wished she could say the same about Ashara. Her closest friend, her sister in everything but blood seemed to be struggling but she appeared to have softened at the appearance of Zaganos who had came to see Mehmed and Elia the first evening they arrived back, after they had their evening meal with the family. Elia got the impression that Zaganos was a man who understood his position and played it quite well, allowing his best friend and sultan to have a moment of peace with his family before he brought news of his empire and what he missed while he was away collecting his bride.

Her husband’s closest advisor and friend did not seem distracted by her best friend’s beauty, not like how other men were and Elia could also admit that the women in Moraq were quite beautiful so mayhaps the man has grown accustomed to such beauties lingering around him in the palace. It was only after they had an evening tea to settle their evening meal did Zaganos begin detailing Mehmed and Elia of what has been happening in the empire. The man was like Lord Varys and Lord Tywin rolled into one, a man with his own network of spies that were planted within the triad of empires along with the Free Cities. He was also shrewd and calculating, just like her brothers in the way hardened men can only be, looking for flaws and errors and then rectifying it quickly once it came to his attention. It soothed Elia greatly to know that Zaganos was not another Jon Connington; he would not be an advisor or friend that would kiss Mehmed’s arse and tell him all the things he wanted to hear. Once Zaganos was done speaking he had offered to walk Ashara back to her rooms and she had agreed.

Mayhaps she should not have been so surprised that he knew of Ashara considering his spy network, for he seemed patient with her as her friend watched him in wariness. Elia could not help but think this must be a mirror of how she acted with Mehmed when she first met him, acting like a cobra ready to strike because an unknown entity had stepped too close to her nest. When she had thought about it then she had snorted, and Mehmed had only smiled as he too seemed to think the same thing.

She could admit Zaganos was a handsome man, and her cousins were even more eager to find their own suitors given the stock of men not just the Han family had to offer but also Moraq as a whole. Elia herself had been putting money aside for her ladies ever since they came into her service so that their dowries would be plentiful, and they would not have to depend so heavily on their husband or his family’s graces.

Zaganos skin was lighter than Mehmed’s own but he wore a full mustache and beard, trimmed and neat the same way Mehmed does. He is also tall, only an inch or two shorter than her husband himself but in the same way Elia and Ashara compliment each other, so too does Mehmed and Zaganos. Elia got to see that for the first time when she went to Mehmed’s solar just days before, it was a grand solar with a balcony that overlooked the outside of the palace and gardens, allowing for fresh floral scents to be carried into his solar when the winds blew – which was often. Mehmed had been sitting at his own desk, with Zaganos sitting just in front of him at another desk and they had been looking at parchments, one paper would be signed by Mehmed and then passed to Zaganos and then be turned right back over to Mehmed as he pressed down his signet.

It made her smile softly because it reminded her of her memories of her mama and papa and her mama and Doran. Two people working in tandem and Elia had no wish to disturb a system they had already created and that has been implemented since their childhood.

She was quite nervous that Zaganos would see her as an interloper, someone coming in between his friendship with Mehmed but Zaganos was not like Jon Connington who fancied himself in love with Rhaegar. No, Zaganos did not think she was unworthy of his best friend like the griffin lord thought her to be, nor did he make passive aggressive comments about her culture, accent or looks. He had been welcoming in all the ways that Connington had not been, sweet even when Deria had showed up yesterday and he had introduced himself as ‘uncle’ and her daughter had looked to Mehmed as he nodded before she offered up a sweet smile. Quite happy to have more cousins and another uncle in her collection of growing friends and family.

Her daughter only had Viserys growing up and while they were far away from the sweet prince, her daughter spoke fondly of him to her new friends and cousins. As she laid on her husband she told herself she would have to write a letter to Jaime that could be sent from west to Rhaella and Viserys, so that they could know that Deria and her still thought of them and held them in their hearts – always. Deria liked Jaime a lot, dubbing him ‘uncle’ Jaime and Elia is sure Lord Tywin would have a stroke at the title her daughter gave her golden knight but that fondness had grown when Jaime had spent time with them in the nursery so it had been something hard fought and she wouldn’t deny her daughter nor Jaime that.

Her head rose and fell in tandem with the beat of her husband’s heart, a soothing song to rest her nerves for the day ahead as she laid in the darkness of the night trying to fall back to sleep. The hand that rested on Mehmed’s skin was gently removed as she brought it to her stomach, trying to feel for any difference or change but she found none, and she bit her lip in consternation.

“I am sure the last thing you want if for your lips to be swollen and bloodied by morning,” the voice spoke to her gently as soft long fingers removed her bottom lip from her gnawing teeth.

Elia looked up startled to see Mehmed looking down at her, his face open in his expression that was so different from the face he wore in court, but Elia did the same thing so she could not judge him for that. She licked her lips instead, soothing her bottom lip and nodded her head as best as she could from her position.

 _The last thing I need is to look stressed on the day of our ascension._ She knew that, but it was easier said than done and she felt herself relax when she felt Mehmed’s finger begin to trail up and down her spine again as he had done just a few hours before as she laid on him sweaty and flushed.

“Thank you,” she murmured as she grabbed the sheets and duvet and pulled them higher up, encasing them in warmth.

“Why do you seem so stressed? You should be resting; _we_ should be resting. The day ahead will be long and tiring my love.”

Elia threw her free arm across his stomach, her hands resting against the skin as her nails scraped against it gently as she shuffled under the covers.

“Mayhaps from excitement or from anxiety, I cannot tell. Why are you up?”

She did not think she had awoken him; she had been quiet when she woke, and she could never tell if her husband was a light sleeper like her or a man who slept through the night undisturbed. Some nights he awoke when she did, when her dreams turned into nightmares and she began to sweat or cling to him harder than normal, or even when she would just wake on her own and just stare into the void of the darkness of their room when the fire died, her mind just drifting like a ship on the tides.

“Mayhaps for the same reason you are, just thinking away of the day ahead, of the days ahead of us. I see the way you touch your stomach; I know you have stopped taking the wild carrot tea.”

Elia sighed, sitting up somewhat as she turned her body, with her stomach pressing against the mattress underneath them as she stared at her husband the best she could within the darkness, as the fire in their hearth had died long ago after they fell asleep the first time. She suspected that neither she nor he wanted to leave their cocoon of warmth to reset their fire, so she brought her body up closer to his face, where she could make out the outline of it.

Her fingers moved from his stomach to his jawline, tracing it and running her fingers through his trimmed beard as she thought about her words and tried to formulate her reasonings in a way that would justify her actions.

“I want to give you a child, so you know the love I feel when I hold Deria. I had been quite relieved when I found out that I did not need to produce you an heir when negotiations for our betrothal and marriage had first been brought up. But I want to have a child born out of love, love that is returned and shared and not one-sided. I want to give you that. I have gained weight; I am not so skinny nor as frail as I once been. I had taken the time to recuperate within the Water Gardens. I feel better than I have and years! I cannot see nor can I think of any reasons to not give you what I desire. You may not care; you may be satisfied with Deria alone though she is not from your loins, but I think your parents would like a grandchild from you. I would like to give them one.”

Mehmed has told her plenty of times that before her, he had never considered marriage nor children. It had not been in his plans and a successor was chosen not from his own seed but from a Han son who had showed prowess across all the fields of qualification. There had simply been no reason for him to take a wife or even a paramour and sire children of his own, not when she has now seen all the cousins that bear the name Han. 

But she is also doing this for selfish reasons, “It is not just for you I am doing this, but also for myself. To prove that I _can,_ that I am not what they thought I to be.”

Her next breath was staggering as she released it and it felt good to freely admit that, but then she felt some guilt because she should not want a child as a ‘fuck you’ to Rhaegar and the rest of Westeros. The old Elia would not be so petty, would not actively seek to do this thing but that Elia had been smothered by the Elia who now lays with her husband, who has the same darkness within him as she has and she welcomes that wholeheartedly.

“On our first walk to the beach near the Sea of Dorne, I told you to not apologize for things out of your control. While this is in our realm of control you should not apologize for this either. As I said before, everything I have I have worked for, killed for, bled for. If this is something that you want, then I shall endeavor to help you accomplish that.”

 _See_.

It is things like this that make her bury her face into the crook of her husband’s neck and inhale his scent as she grabs at him and holds him to her slender frame. That allows her curls to flare out around them as she kisses him with fervor and hikes her leg over his waist as she straddles him.

The gods had been quite merciful indeed when Mehmed had been sent her way and for everything that she has gone through, it makes her more thankful, more grateful to have him by her side and in her life.

“I love you,” is all she says before she pushes herself down onto him, her hands still gripping the muscles underneath her.

* * *

As the sun rose, so too did Elia and Mehmed as they dressed themselves in their robes and they had given each other a kiss before they were both shuffled off to prepare for their ascension. Elia had been brought into the former harem’s bathhouse which was quite large but expected considering it was supposed to bath near fifty women at once, in the decades passed. Mehmed would be bathing in his own bathhouse with Zaganos as they would be spending that time speaking on matters of the empire.

Elia had been joined by her ladies but apparently there were specialized bathhouse servants who would come whenever the sultan and/or sultana came and would tend to them. Elia could feel soft hands dig into her skin, massaging them as she laid down onto cushioned wooden bench and she could only sigh out as her face was buried into a pillow.

Her body felt relaxed as she sunk into one of the steaming bathing pools, as she kept her eyes and lips closed as she had some sort of mask on her face made from honey, eggs, and aloe vera. She had no idea what was happening around her as her eyes were closed but she could hear Ashara, Janice, Lerra and her cousin Myria speaking with one another. They also had masks on but Elia did not feel like talking and so she sat with the steam rising above her face, trying to calm her heart.

Lady Mara had opted out of this aspect of the festivities as Elia is sure the woman wanted to spend time with her husband who she had been away from for so many moons. Only when she heard the familiar squeal of her daughter did Elia open her eyes and she saw Deria sitting on Myria's lap, leaning forward to splash at the water in the pool and she waved at Elia making her smile.

Elia opened her arms and watched her daughter leave their cousin’s lap and swam towards her and she pulled her daughter close. Combing her wet hands through her daughter’s damp hair, as her daughter relaxed into her chest.

“Are you excited for the day my love?” Elia rubbed soothing hands over her daughter’s arms. Elia looked around the bathhouse and was quite pleased to see her ladies quite comfortable in their nudity, as they spoke and gossiped with one another.

“Yes mama. Baba says I get a tiara today!”

When Deria was younger she also had a tiara, but she had been quite small and was eager to walk once she could, so she did not wear her tiara often enough outside of the portrait that was made and housed on Dragonstone. Elia knows from Rhaella’s own lips that her former good mother has kept that portrait in her own rooms now. Not wanting Rhaegar or his lady love to be rid of the portrait.

“I am glad you are happy little sun. Though mayhaps you should dry off, I shall soon be joining you.”

In Dorne after Lady Mara had arrived did Elia begin to prepare a gown for today, something that showed that Elia embraced not just Moraq but also Yi Ti and Leng. While the royals for the other two kingdoms would not be in attendance their ambassadors would be and Elia wanted to make a good impression to them before her and Mehmed left on progress.

It had taken half an hour to rid herself of the facial mask she had worn, and she could feel the difference in her skin. More soft than usual and it made her olive skin appear to be glowing as she retied her robe and ascended the stairs, with Deria holding one of her hands as her ladies followed suit in their robes also.

They had decided they would all dress together, and it reminded Elia of her childhood, with her cousin and close friends near her as they swam together in the gardens and then dressed together afterward.

_Good memories to always have and carry._

Maids were waiting for them as they entered the room, the servants eager to get to work as Elia was sat down in front of the looking glass. Her hair had been dried and it was being brushed gently and expertly as the noise in the room grew as they prepared for the event of the day.

Elia had chosen her jewelry wisely, after she was able to pry some information from Mehmed about her second crown. He had kept it a secret just as he did her first, but she has since learned that her husband has good taste when it comes to fashion, and she left the matter alone. They would be crowned in the Moraqi temple on top of the Weeping Mountains, where they would ride astride their steeds and descend the mountain before making their way back towards the administration palace and Mehmed would sit on his throne, alone without the title of 'co-sultan'.

She does not doubt that there will be artists there today, sketching everything they see for it then to be made into portraits and she wants to look good for when the sketches are made so that when they do turn into portraits they can be replicated and she can send them off to Dorne and maybe even one to Jaime.

The hours dragged on as Elia was pampered but she did not complain, she liked having her body massaged with oils being rubbed into her skin. Her hair had been brushed and her curls shone without need to add any excess oils into her hair.

“You look so pretty mama!”

Elia was being dressed in her Moraqi gown, that was black in color, but she had long sleeves that were ribbed first at her shoulders then at her wrist in gold embroidery. Elia had taken inspiration from the portraits and sketches she had of Moraq and implemented small embroideries of the two palaces within the gold. Her gown had a v-cut that showed the flesh of her chest and rested easily on her clavicle that showed her neck. Her necklace was made of gold and silver, with a golden sun in the middle with silver crescent moons going around until each side met in the middle where the sun sat. Her Nath ring was black in color this time, with a black chain connecting to the second hole in her left ear. Her earrings were black also, black snakes dangling from her ears as they are a part of the sigil of House Gargalen. On her arms who gold and silver bangles that seem woven together. The only jewelry on her hand was her pearl wedding ring on her left ring finger and her morganite ring on her right ring finger.

Her hair had been fashioned in the Yi Ti and Lengii shared fashion of one elongated braid that was tied with a black band, while the rest of her curls flared out from the band. All in all, she had managed to tie in all the cultures she was either born into or married into. Her lips had a nude balm covering them, that tasted faintly like apricots. Kohl had been applied as eyeliner and it made the onyx of her eyes appear even more fathomless.

_Yes…pretty indeed._

While Elia had been focused staring at herself, she hadn’t realized her ladies had finished dressing also and so she took a moment to stare at them, fondness swarming her heart.

“You are all so beautiful. I am very glad that when I choose to walk this path again, you all remained by my side. For that I will always be thankful. If there is anything that you wish for, so long as it is in my power, I shall see it done.”

Because Elia herself knows that with some people loyalties can be bought and sold and no matter the disasters she had went through, her ladies had remained steadfast in their service even when she sent them away for their own safety. Westeros can say what they want about Dorne but outside of one fallen star, when it came to loyalty, she knew Dorne would always be the best at it.

Elia made sure to specifically look at Ashara when she said those words because it had been a struggle with her friend these past moons, surely just as Elia had to find herself, Ashara had to too. Elia at least had knowing that it had not been a brother who wounded her in deceit and cowardice but Ashara could not say the same thing and so she gave her friend space in the hope that it was the right thing to do.

She was not blind to what some spoke about the Daynes and while hardly anyone would have frowned at her if she did indeed give birth to a bastard, a Stark bastard after the rebellion would have struggled being raised in the sands. The gods are cruel. She once read in a Rhoynar spiritual book about gods and the relationship between them and us mortal beings, “All gods who receive homage are cruel. All gods dispense suffering without reasoning. Otherwise how else would they be worshipped. Through indiscriminate suffering men know fear and that is the most divine emotion. Fear is the stones for altars and the beginning of wisdom. Half gods are worshipped in wine and flowers. Real gods require blood.” [1]

It is her own hope that when you offer something up, willingly or even unwillingly to the gods to have, when you pay it in blood you can receive something in return to help soothe the ache of what was lost. True sacrifice requires it to be selfless, but Elia is of the belief that is it not the same thing when something is taken away from you without you knowing nor giving consent for it? Rhaella had suffered many lost babes and only when Aerys died did she get the sweet daughter but her and Aerys had wanted for so long. Elia has made her own happiness in the remains of destruction and she prays that Ashara can do the same thing too.

She herself knows what it is like lamenting on personal losses and you must instead look at the gains, but also keep looking to see how much more you can gain until the losses are barely even a spec of what you have gained in return. Mehmed had told her life was a balance, finding equilibrium and then keeping that status and while it is a hard thing to do, it is possible. _But Ashara and I have always been different in that way._ Elia sighs to herself as stands up from her cushioned seat.

Her gown pools at her feet, her sandals are wrapped around her legs that stop just a few inches from her knees. The weather has been nice but with a cool breeze almost daily makes her add another component of her gown; and so she stands as a black cloak is placed upon her shoulders, adding some added warmth from the long sleeves of her gown.

“Let us go,” she states as she walks across the room, with one of Deria’s hands in hers as her ladies split into two columns behind her, Myria with Ashara and Lerra with Janice.

The halls go quiet as they pass through them with her guards, Daedra and Seraeron walking beside her on each side. The servants and maids alike bow their heads, staring after her but she keep her head held high and her gait is sure and confident, her hips slowly swaying but not provocative in manner. When they reached the canal, Mehmed is already there waiting for them along with Zaganos and his guard.

He grabs her hand and helps her onto the boat, with Deria following her and he soon joins them. One of her hands stay in Deria’s grasps while the other while the other is resting on Mehmed’s thigh as they begin their journey towards the outside palace where their horses await them. Lady Mara and Mehmet have already gone to the temple to oversee everything along with a contingent of guards to help secure it.

The journey is not long before they exit the boat, and Mehmed helps her climb atop her steed, while her ladies and daughters are ushered into the wheelhouse. By riding her own steed up and down the mountain in open view, it is to showcase her face to her new people and so they may see her, before and after her crowning. In an off way she feels weird without a crown sitting on her head, for she has gotten so use to the comfortable way of the grown Mehmed had bestowed her with.

They ride in a nice pace and luckily the winds are not harsh which allows her hair to stay in place, as they ascend the mountain. She does not begin to perspire, and her make-up remains flawless when they finally reach the temple. Since the first day she has arrived in Moraq, she has heard the faint sounds of music coming from either the temple or the Imperial Academy and she has always found it soothing, especially now as she embarks on another important milestone of her life.

What she had not managed to accomplish with Rhaegar and the Six Kingdoms, she has already showcased the gains and strides she has been making now in her new empire. It is with eagerness that she slides her hand around Mehmed’s arm once they remove themselves from their horses. The doors to the temple are open and the Dornishwoman cannot help but struggle to keep moving as she stares at what is in front of her.

The temple is grand, on par to that as the Great Sept of Baelor in King’s Landing but mayhaps it is even grander. For all thirteen gods and goddesses were erected from marble and they stood in even lines, with the great god Amir standing in the middle. The Moraqi god of life and the sun and creator of man was showcased with the sun in both his hands, it is radiating outward in appearance. The two gods next to him are the goddess Hilial, the goddess of the moon and the consort of the sun god, who holds a full moon in her hands. The second god is Atlas, who holds a large star in his hands. From their the gods range out, each one holding something that represents them, Qaynan is holding a hammer in one hand with a flame of fire in the other. Even Haubas is depicted with watery robes to showcase her domain of the sea, standing next to her consort Athar who hold a lightening bolt and a mattock.

All thirteen gods and goddesses stood tall, towering in the temple, and Elia cannot help but wonder how these statues were built as she can feel their marble gazes looking down upon her especially. Elia definitely took note of Manat, the goddess of fate, destiny, and death as she was a shrouded figure with only her mouth being seen, which had an eerie smile on her lips. It is only recently that Elia feels so closely related to death and the true meaning of it ever since the war. But her thoughts are distracted by Mehmed as they walk by the rows of people, the temple is quiet except for the soft music that is being played that eventually stops when they make it to the top of the stairs that houses the altar that has fresh candles settled upon it.

The priest walk towards them, he has the usual tanned skin of that is common in the Moraqi people, but his beard is white, almost silvery in color and it is long but trimmed. He has soft amethyst-green eyes and she wonders faintly does he hail from the same family as Lady Mara, for his eyes are familiar in color to hers.

“Today, we are joined to welcome the new reign of Sultan Mehmed and Sultana Elia of House Han. Today, they shall be blessed by the Holy Thirteen, let it be known.” His voice is not craven like how some holy men are, but it is gentle but with a quiet force behind it also.

The priest’s voice drones into the temple as he begins the rites, with his acolytes not far behind him as he picks up a bowl and begins to mark their hands. Each bowl has different colors that represent the gods, and all ten fingers are marked for Qaynan, Al-lat, Yatha, Manat, Atlas, Athtar, Arsu, Basamum and Haubas. Leaving only three gods left, but Elia watches as a light red color is marked onto the inner side of her left hand, where her pulse can be felt for Atarsamain – the goddess of sex, protection, and love. Her palms are still facing upward as the priest draws a sun into her left palm for Amir and the moon in her right palm for Hilial.

The paints dry quickly and she like how colorful her hands look, even Mehmed seems pleased by the rites that are being performed, this time not being his first obviously but she knows he is infinitely pleased because he has finally reached the goal he has strived for, for so long.

Just like in the Sept of Sunspear, Elia watches as a large pillow is brought forth and her daughter is called forward and she watches her daughter walk up the steps, with a determined look on here young face. Elia looks at her crown and notices how much more Moraqi it looks in appearance, at least with the whole band being made up of siyah. The only colors that are showed are silver and gold, gold for the sun sigil of her house and silver for the crescent moon sigil of Mehmed’s. Her daughter’s tiara is a miniature version of her own, but her daughter’s has eagle wings etched into hers and she ponders why there is that difference in between the two. Mehmed’s crown is a sample crown made from siyah, with a silver crescent moon in the middle but with eagle wings on both side.

The priest crowns Mehmed first, showing him not just the head of his family but the head of his empire now. The priest stands aside as Mehmed picks up Elia crown and she does not make the mistake she did the first time to make a move to kneel, but instead stands erect with her eyes meeting his. The crown fits snugly on her head and she likes the comfort of the added weight, no her crown is not as ostentatious as the one he gave her in Dorne, but then again knowing what she does know about her husband, he had simply wanted to show her off, especially since they had guests from all over coming. Showcasing the wealth of Moraq in her crown was a good way to do so.

Now though, there was no great need to do that here in their own empire. Mehmed beckons Deria to come closer and he does the surprising thing by lowering himself just a fraction to place the tiara on their daughter’s head. Her daughter smiles, beaming as she blushes prettily at her stepfather making Elia feel more secure than ever in her decisions so far.

Mehmed grabs one of Deria’s hand and Elia the other and they turn towards the crowd in the temple as the grand priest finally speaks again.

“May the Holy Thirteen give Their blessings upon their Majesties. May the Holy Thirteen impart Their wisdom and knowledge so Great Moraq can continue to prosper. May I present to you our Sultan and Sultana of Great Moraq and our First Imperial Princess. Long may they reign.”

The return of “long may they reign” resounded within the temple and Elia worked hard to keep her face impassive, to keep her mask in place but it was difficult to describe the feelings that were running through her.

_On one hand I feel a burden lifted but on the other I feel a new one in its place._

As she stares out at the crowd, her eyes washing over the people, now her people she comes to the dauntingly realization that yes, they are all hers now. _I will make them love me, this I swear, they are mine as I am theirs._ As they descend the stairs, she feels thirteen gazes on her back and while she still does not know much about the these Moraqi gods, she begins to understand why Mehmed had been so fervent when he went west for her, if these powerful gazes alone are anything to go by. Elia had never thought to overreach before, but as they all step outside, where she can already hear and see the people of Moraqi cheering, waving and smiling at their new rulers, she takes a look at one of the Han standards blowing in the wind, taking special note of the gold eagle. As the standard ripples in the wind, it appears as though the eagle is flying in movement.

When Mehmed had first arrived in Dorne, Elia had taken a leap of faith or a leap of hope that she would not crash and get burned once more. Elia had flown blindly, but as she stands and listens to the crowds, she can admit that while she had started off blind, it didn’t matter all that much so long as she spread her wings out a bit more and kept going.

Posted: 08/09/2020

Edited: 08/09/2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] 'Their Eyes Were Watching God' (1937) by Zora Neale Hurston: “All gods who receive homage are cruel. All gods dispense suffering without reason. Otherwise they would not be worshipped. Through indiscriminate suffering men know fear and fear is the most divine emotion. It is the stones for altars and the beginning of wisdom. Half gods are worshipped in wine and flowers. Real gods require blood.”
> 
> As a Black woman, I often find myself in between religion, spirituality and philosophy with my own morals and ethics forming my own mythos of life and death. I think with an introspective and analytical look into Elia, if I was in her position with everything that happened, I would really only believe in two things as universal truths: life and death, blood and bone. This story really focuses on finding a balance and not giving credence for one over the other. 
> 
> I imagine with someone like Elia, she must have prayed very often, very hard while captive to Aerys and to have none of those prayers answered? Like yeah she prayed to the Father to have Aerys cast down but who is to say that the Stranger (Death) simply hadn't arrived and said "Aerys, your time is up."? I feel like for Mother Rhoyne and the Stranger represent those two aspects of life and death perfectly. However even Mother Rhoyne wants her due with sacrifices. I mean the Rhoynar had water magic and you don't think they had to sacrifice some animals or dare I say even human sacrifices to their great goddess? Mhmm...I willing to bet there was some blood flowing into the Rhoyne. But like most civilizations that move towards modernization (as far as that goes in a world like ASOIAF), some of those aspects of their cultures could have been done away with, which is why water magic is no longer viable in the world. 
> 
> However considering what we do know of canon Orphans of the Greenblood which really aint all that much, I'm still gonna make them hold onto their animal sacrifices because they still hold strong to their beliefs.
> 
> Often in this fic it made notice that the gods are cruel, that they do indeed mock the efforts made of wo(man) and I like that steady reminder of yeah, I'm in a good place now, but the path I took to get here is bloodied and littered with dead bodies, some I knew and love and other perfect strangers. 
> 
> Anyways I figured that was a good quote to use and I was reminded of it by 'Skin in the Game' by MaCall which is a Roose Bolton/OFC fic, that has Aegon and Rhaenys alive. Pretty good, should definitely check it out.
> 
> Also also, something that doesn't have to do with anything else I've previously said but I'm kinda sick of seeing tags saying 'Elia deserved better' or something along those lines and I go and read the fic and she still has her canon fate? Like bitch, lmao obviously you don't think so if you still had her children killed and her r*ped and butchered but thanks for playing I guess?? Argh, stay out of the tags please, quite irritating thinking I'll be getting something good and I end up with dust in the mouth. 
> 
> Anyways, the world is still self-destructing and I'm just watching but its tiring. Grad school is starting up in a few weeks and I'm actually happy to have some work to do, otherwise my brain would simply jump out of my head and peace tf out.


	28. Interlude: Mehmed II & Jade II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tale of two siblings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So at first this was going to be an interlude for Mehmed, Jade, Jaime and Arthur, but then it became Mehmed, Jade & Arthur, but ultimately I decided to do Mehmed & Jade for this chapter and then Jaime & Arthur for ch. 29. I think once I hit past chapter 30, it'll kinda be like the final chapter before 5-6 chapters of epilogues as the years get on, cause I do want to touch on Greyjoy Rebellion, Elia's future children and Viserys. Like chapter 30 will be a big one (more than likely) and 5-6 chapters afterwards are timeskips like how I'm doing for 'Lex Talionis'. 
> 
> My graduate school starts next week and I've been doing interviews all week for school districts, so I want the main component of this story done before doing epilogue chapters and I want to finish Lex Talionis by next weekend (wish me luck because got damn lol). But yeah, that's just what's going on. I hope it doesn't seem too abrupt but I never wanted this fic to be less than 30 chapters or more than 45 so I figured 35-36 chapters is good.
> 
> Also also, I started a 8 chapter fic called Lex Talionis that’s Elia/Jaime. It’s an SIOC-Elia fic with time travel, it’s very cracked out lol. 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/25872880/chapters/62866426

Mehmed could remember the first time he went with his parents when they made a progress around the Triad. The way the people would bow their heads and then offer up fruits, of the way fishermen on the docks would offer up a hot meal of fish and crabs to sate their appetites, no matter if it they were in Great Moraq, Leng or Yi Ti, that generosity was always there – only if you were a subject of the Triad, outsiders were always viewed with caution.

It was part of the reason why he made such a show of the coronation, of not just crowning Elia himself again but also to crown Deria too. He did not want any doubts to be formed of his relationship nor marriage.

After they traveled through Great Moraq, visiting the great sites, they then sailed across the Jade Sea. Their first stop had been in Yi Ti, where they traveled the Street of Gold, that led all the way up to the Golden Palace. Mehmed liked Yi Ti, but he would always prefer the black stone roads that led to the Beylerbeyi and Topkapu Palaces.

 _Let them taste the exotic flavors brought from Westeros, let them see what trades and knowledge that my marriage brought for not just Moraq but for the rest of the Triad also_ , he had thought at the time. 

Which is also why as they made their progress, the fruits, and vegetables from Dorne had been given to his cousins Bu Gai, God-emperor of Yi Ti and Khiara, God-empress of Leng. Even when they walked amongst the people, both him and Elia decided to have the food handed out to the people as they passed them, showing their faces to their cousins’ subjects.

They had spent a few weeks in as a guest of his cousin, before sailing southwest towards Leng. While Mehmed would never admit this to Bu Gai, he could honestly say he liked Leng more than Yi Ti. But that was only because of the jungles that filled the island, the bamboo that would bend in the wind, especially now at night were a sight to see. They went to visit Turrani and Leng Ma also before they settled down in Leng Yi, the capital.

Khiara had greeted them with her two consorts, Meng Tian, and Ma Yaun at her side. He has met his good cousins before and likes them both equally, he especially liked them even more after they both regaled his wife and daughter with tales of fighting in the jungles.

It is the same tale he has heard time and time again but both Tian and Yaun were happy to have a new audience.

They had all dined together, before retiring for the night but Mehmed could not sleep, he felt restless to return home, to set the foundations for his reign at last. His parents had went to Asshai, giving him and Elia space to present themselves to others and to have Moraq to themselves while they are gone.

Sultans and sultanas of an old reign leave the capital or even the empire and allow the new monarchs time to consolidate their rule, without opposition running to the previous monarchs in complaint.

He feels just like an eagle, circling above prey and not being able to swoop down and pick it apart until nothing is left but bones. As he leans forward on the balcony of his bedroom, the same rooms he always take when he visits Leng. The skies are clear, and the stars can be seen in full view, with a full moon cascading those below it with pale light.

 _It is a beautiful night_ ; he thought to himself. The bamboos can be heard whistling in the wind, the leaves fluttering from the spruce trees compliment the ambient sounds of the night. However, even with those beautiful sounds filling his ears, he is not deaf to the ruffling of sheets behind him.

He doesn’t bother to turn around, not when he knows those soft footsteps and whom they belong to. Familiar arms wrap around him and he can feel his wife’s breasts pressing against the linen tunic he is wearing.

“You are right you know,” his wife stated softly.

Her slippers drag softly against the stone beneath their feet and one of her arms fall away from his body, while the other remains holding onto his waist. He looks down at her and admires her in the way all husbands should admire their wives. He reaches up and touches the skin of her face, tracing her jawline – he quite likes her face – admiring the softness under his touch.

He has found that his wife is always soft, smelling like gazanias and almonds always; it is a sweet scent that he associates solely to her. Often, when their bodies are slick with sweat and his Dornish wife lays underneath him, he finds that he cannot escape her scent even if he wanted to.

“Right about what?” He asks, because there are a many things that he is right about, but the playful tilt in his tone is obvious to Elia because she smiles anyway, leaning into his touch.

“One of the first things you ever told me, was that the stars do not lie. You are right. They look quite beautiful tonight.” She states, her body now pressed against his, his frame protecting her against the wind.

“I am glad you see the truth in my words,” he presses a kiss down onto her head, inhaling her the smell of the black curls atop her head.

“Good, now come back to bed. It is cold without you,” it’s an order, but he finds that when his wife is like this in the night; standing before him in nothing but a robe and her curls are wild, he cannot deny himself such a call. While he now rules an empire, he is quite alright with allowing his wife to reign over him. It gives him a reprieve away from matters of state and he likes being able to close his eyes while his wife hums while they are in bed as she scratches his scalp.

There are many ways he can describe the feelings that run through him as he pulls Elia away from the balcony and closes the glass door behind them and pulls her toward their bed.

Happiness he supposes, or maybe even peaceful, but that’s not quite right either, so he searches for a new word, but he fails at this as they both undress again and climb into bed. The sheets are a little cold from their absence, but Mehmed has always been warmer than the next man and it will not take long before their bed is their warm cocoon again.

Elia falls asleep again, more easily than before but he doesn’t mind the silence of the room as he runs his fingers up and down her spine, liking the touch of unblemished soft smooth skin, so unlike his own.

She has been more tried as of late and he wonders if it is from the progression that they’ve been on for the past two moons or for the possible babe growing in her. He has seen enough cousins get with child and knows that they tire out easily, because they are now doing everything for two or three if there happens to be twins born into the family.

 _I could have asked the astrologers; I could even look upon the stars myself_.

It would be quite easy to get the information he needs, that he wants but when he married Elia, he wished to not be like the man who had come before him. He gave no mind of when she started and stopped consuming the wild carrot tea, before she had told him of it on her volition. He supported her in her decision because it was her decision to make. He may be her husband, her sultan, but he never thought to lord over her and make decisions for her when it came to her own health.

Mehmed knew about her struggles with her health before and he saw no need in trying to dictate it or her for his own gain. It was distasteful to even think of, because even if the moronic idea had crossed his mind, his mother would take the rod and not spare him – Jade would most likely do the same thing or something even more nefarious.

Elia wanted a babe – fervently – for him to have and to hold, to love as his own but even now it is a hard concept to grasps. His father had done good with him, though their relationship had been trained by an overreaching pasha, it had taken time for it to heal and become positive once more.

Being a stepfather was easy, because Deria was already **_here_** and it didn’t hurt that she reminded Mehmed so much of himself that it almost hurt. There was a visage of himself in Deria whenever he watched her with his careful gaze, of how she was always eager to learn, always eager to know. Because he understood on that basic level the want to understand the world around you, to understand why things are the way they are and why things happened the way they did.

He thinks it’s because of the way her life has changed that has brought this change in Deria, because he knows she has not always been this way according to Elia and even Ashara.

Change can be good, for those who know how to adapt, while it can ruins others who do not.

When Mehmed looks at Deria he sees all the ways it can go wrong, of all the ways her hatred for not just her sire but mayhaps even Elia – if Deria believes it is her mother’s fault – or even hate herself when Mehmed knows there is only one person to blame in all this.

Ever since he first met her, he has watched her carefully, not with suspicion but more like a person would an injured bird, cupped in their hands, protecting them from the world around it. Her wings had been broken long before she ever had need to leave the nest, but he figures that’s okay, children heal faster than grown men do and he shall see to it that she does.

There is no need to let her sire define who she is as a person and Mehmed, a man who has always fought for what he wanted finds this to be a task he is most suited to. He himself has had his own wings broken once upon a time and it had taken time to be able to fly again.

Being a stepfather is easy, when Deria had called him ‘baba’ for the first time, he had patted her head and turned his own head and ignored the fondness that had bloomed in his own chest. It reminded him of the time he brought forth his academy work to his own father, showing how well he did, and his father had pat his head, his eyes warming like honey at the progress of his son.

Mehmed is not an emotional creature, not out of habit, no not at all. But he found love with his wife, who is witty and has a sharp tongue in more ways than one. He considers her a companion that can match his intelligence and everyday – he swears – he thanks the Thirteen for her and for bringing him to her. He knows he would have been alright without Elia, if they had never met, he would have carried on with his original plans for his rule.

However, he cannot deny that it feels nice to be like this, a warm body that has not been bought lays against his own with his fingers tracing the shape of her spine. To be able to tell his secrets and not fear that he must kill the person afterwards is also a nice feeling. He cannot think of the emotion that’s blanketed over him but as he listens to his wife soft snores, Mehmed thinks he’ll try again in the morning.

* * *

The sandstone quarry that was built on with both of the combined forces of Dornish, Moraqi and even Norvosi laborers has finally been completed, as Jade stands atop it and looks to where the canal that had been designed by Xiang Fu, a YiTish architect who had arrived with the Moraqi party when they first came to Dorne, is opened by fifteen men drawing up the stone wall that has been keeping the water out until now.

Jade stands next to her husband and children, with her good brother, Doran standing in front as they all watch as the water from the Sea of Dorne gush into the canal leading to the quarry. It is like watching the cloud open after a storm and the sun is shining down.

The moment the betrothal agreement from the Hans and Martells were signed, work had immediately began, with three groups of laborers: one for the quarry, the second for sand road leading to the quarry and the third for the quarry itself.

This quarry, from what Jade knows has always been here, something that had been used before when Mors Martell was ruling the Sandship but there had not been enough rainfall and hardly any laborers to do anything about it. The quarry had been left to the elements over the years because previous rulers did not want to disturb the coffers, especially since before the Year 187, (when Dorne was finally brought into the king’s peace by Prince Maron Martell marrying Princess Daenerys Targaryen), Dorne had been fighting off Targaryen rule. 

Now however the time had been right, Dorne had the backing of an empire, a Triad really because if Great Moraq went to war then Yi Ti and Leng would follow suit as the accords between the three were written. It was how Bu Gai had secured his throne by having his two contenders be killed within the darkness of night.

Laborers had come from all over the Triad to see what beauty they could make in the sands and this quarry was proof of that. It had been redefined a bit more by manual labor while the canals had been built using white stone that had been transported from Myr before it had been broken down and infused with Dornish sand, complimenting the sandstone around the quarry.

Jade could hear people cheering in the background and she herself was happy as she held Sarella’s hand as she was pointing at everything, having her father explain it to her.

“This is just the first of many Sarella, it shall be easier for our people to get water, to even fish and have food in their bellies,” Oberyn explained to their youngest daughter.

Sarella had been a bit put out with Deria having left for Great Moraq, and it was obvious her elder sisters did not hold quite the love she did when it came to tomes and libraries. Between teaching Obara the arts of assassination and dancing, getting slimer and sleeker daggers to be crafted for Nymeria, even teaching Tyene the beauty of espionage and then having her set up her own spy network in the Water Gardens with Arianne when she was not teaching her little Zehir about the different poisons of Asshai, Jade still made time for Sarella.

Giving her tomes about the ancient dynasty of the scarlet emperors of Yi Ti and even Khiara the First, the god-empress of Leng whose current god-empress is named after her.

Sarella consumed tomes with a hunger that matched Jade’s own, especially when she lived in Asshai, she had read and consumed every ounce of information and knowledge she could get her hands upon.

Jade watched and listened as the crowd grew silent as Doran spoke and she wanted to laugh by how dramatic her new brother could be.

 _Elia did warn me he had a flare for dramatics, and I see now where Oberyn gets it from_.

In truth, Doran, Elia and Oberyn were all dramatic from what she’s observed though Elia and Doran are more reserved, but she knows how fired up Doran can be when he gives a speech. Jade had found the script of Doran’s speech when he broke Dorne away from the Iron Throne and she could read the passion that had been written on the parchment.

“At long last, we have done what our ancestors wanted to do, for in the years even decades to come, water shall flow freely throughout Dorne. The dragons once thought we needed them to make our kingdom just as lush as the others, just as fertile but looking out upon you all, I see we needed not their intervention nor false help. We have all done this, together and as we feast, I want you all to toast yourselves and to toast Dorne.”

In this moment it reminded Jade of back home, the way her father would speak, and Jade would watch people, nobles, and fishermen alike stare at her father in awe. Hanging off his every word because they believed in those words and believed in their sultan.

It could have been worse, to have anyone else but Doran as her good brother would be an insult, especially after Jade has seen some of the other noble lords of Westeros while at Casterly Rock, especially that oaf, Mace Tyrell. Some men had surprised her like Lord Tywin, a pragmatic man who she knows Mehmed likes, her brother has always been a fan of smart men, pragmatic men who can bend their morals and ethics just a little to get what they want. Even Ser Jaime, well Lord Jaime now was a welcome surprise considering how many good things Elia had to say about her golden brother.

Jade had thought Oberyn and even Mehmed would be jealous of Elia’s relationship with the Young Lion, but Oberyn was just thankful that a knight finally remembered his vows of a knight before his vows of a Kingsguard and protected his sister. Her brother respected Lord Jaime because he went from a foolish boy into his father’s son, obviously seeing the world for what it was.

Her brother always did have a soft spot for those who began to understand the world under cruel lessons, not that she can blame him for it.

As they ride back to Sunspear, they have good company with them as the city is already in festivity mode. Flowers rain down from apartments as they pass through the city, along with waving hands and bright smiles, until they arrive back in the palace.

Even the inside of the castle is bustling but this celebration is not as elaborate as the previous ones, though the laborers and architects have been invited to dine with the Martell family, a true honor especially for the laborers as they get to feast in the same open hall as their Prince and his heir.

While there is a grand hall inside Sunspear, for celebrations like these, Jade has learned that it is more often than not held outside where the music can flow on the winds and people can get as loud and bawdy as they wish to.

Jade herself sits next to her family, with her Shadow Guards placed throughout the open hall as she watches the feast. While she is relaxing and enjoying herself, her duty as her Prince’s Mistress of Whispers never stops and so she does her duty with vigilance.

What she sees, she is sure she has stumbled upon it by mistake as she watches a man who keeps looking up at the dais, focusing not just on Doran but also Mellario who is heavily pregnant. Jade watches as the man’s eyes scan all across the dais, she can even see him warily passing over Oberyn, as she turns her sight to ensure the man does not see her looking at him but she returns it just as quick a second later.

When her teacher – Lady Liopa – had been teaching her in Asshai, she always told Jade that spies will always try their hardest to blend in, but you must look not at what they do, but at what they **_don’t_** do in order to sniff them out.

From that lesson alone, Jade watched, in patience, still eating her food but she had summoned Creon from his position, her personal guards: Creon, Heron and Jazu were never far out of her reach. She wanted him to get Heron and Jazu next to that man in case he needed to be seized.

“Would you care to dance, Oberyn?” Jade asked, putting on a smile that showed nothing of her suspicions, there was no need to ruin the festive mood…yet.

Her husband, ever one to show off his skills had grabbed her hand before pulling her towards the center of the hall, where others were already dancing. The tune and singer were Dornish as the drums were played, as Oberyn spun her around with practiced ease.

Her eyes were never far from the man in question, noticing how he hardly engaged with the people around him, as he was sitting near the architects and laborers.

_A good position. If he sat closer to the dais, some lords may speak to him and his accent if he has one could give him away. If he sat next to the architects, a group of people who have been working together for many moons passed, they would know he’s not a part of their group. If he sits amongst the laborers, none would be the wiser of his accent or him not speaking, mayhaps not recognizing him out of the many sub-groups of laborers._

But that was exactly the problem because the architects and laborers alike were bawdy and loud getting drunk off Dornish red and Moraqi wine. The man had barely touched his cup a wine, sobriety is needed in a spy unless you are a spy who can handle being drinking while on duty.

Jade can admit the man is a good spy, for if he had spoken more to those around him, she likely would not have noticed him and his isolation within the two groups, but alas that was his mistake.

Lady Liopa would be disappointed in her if she allowed this man to spy and leave, that was not the way she was taught – not by her parents, not by Mehmed and damn sure not by Lady Liopa.

As Jade danced with her husband who was obviously having a good time, she removed the hand that was atop his muscled shoulder, flicking her arm discreetly as she felt a small dagger lay flat against her palm. In one moment, it was in her hand and in the next it was flying as the spy put a cut of meat into his mouth.

The dagger had pierced his cut of meat that was sitting on his plate but by the time he had jumped up to run, Heron and Jazu were behind him, one on each side as they gripped his arms.

The music stopped instantly at the commotion and Jade almost felt bad for interrupting the festivities, but she was not one to shirk her duties, no not her.

“What is the meaning of this Jade?” Both Doran and Oberyn seemed to ask at the same time, though Oberyn asked with his onyx orbs instead of verbally, as the hall grew quiet.

Jade stepped away from Oberyn, walking closer to the man in question as she stood in front of him and pointed as she spoke, “it appears we have a spy amongst us brother.”

At the word ‘spy’ the man began to struggle futilely against her guards, before he tried to bring one of his hands to his mouth which was quickly stopped by Jade as she reached forward just as quick, holding his hand.

Her fingers grabbed onto the ring on his hand, sliding it off finger as she brought it up to her gaze, taking a pin from her hair and pressing the ring in curiosity before a secret compartment opened. A Cheshire smile was dancing upon her face as she tsked at the man in mockery.

“Why would you want to kill yourself when you have come all this way? You are not behaving like a good guest, but worry not, for we are a gracious host! I shall be taking care of you _personally_.”

There was something giddy growing inside her at this opportunity, but she reigned it in before speaking once more, “take him to my lab, wait there for me while I change.”

It _would_ be such a shame if she dirtied her white gown, it was one of her new gowns that she had made in the Dornish fashion. As she watched the man dragged away, who began to yell before Jazu hit him in the side of his throat, making the man slump as he was dragged away, his feet scrapping against the ground.

Jade clasped her hands loudly, turning around and offering up a smile, though it if looked a little false, no one said anything, but she was just so eager, because finally, finally she could show Doran what she could do. She didn’t want her brother thinking he made a mistake at naming her his spymaster and this would be the perfect opportunity to show him her skills.

“As you can see brother, there is a spy within our midst, and I would be amiss in my duties if I did not find out why this man has come here. I beg your leave so that I may interrogate this suspect and bring you news about his activities once I am finished.”

Jade watched as Doran raised an eyebrow at her, a dubious look on his face, as Oberyn looked on in silence at her.

“You may go, Oberyn remain behind.”

At her Prince’s word, Jade immediately left with Creon following her and standing outside her chambers as she went to her trunk that she had made in Asshai.

Jade hastily undressed from her gown before putting on her black YiTish clothes, a hanfu guard gown. It allowed for better free movement and the boots she wore were easy to wash if blood happened to get on the floor, which she was sure would happen.

She pulled her hair back, tying it low just a few inches above the nape of her neck before she opened the door to her rooms. Creon was waiting in silence and together they walked down the familiar corridors of the Sandship, the stairs wide as Creon opened the door and Jade saw the spy seated in a tall wooden chair, she had made just for occasions like this.

It was the same kind of chair her baba had in the Beylerbeyi Palace, under the palace where criminals and spies were interrogated before they were either killed or sent to rot in the jails.

“My name is Jade Martell, though I am also known as Jade Han. But if you are here, then you must already know that. Yes?”

The man did nothing but stare at her and she smiles a little, “I get it, you do not wish to betray your master. I can respect that, even admire that but as you see I have my own to answer to, my brother, the Prince of Dorne. This is my first job for him, you see? So, I must do good at this, lest I disappoint him, and I do not wish for that. It will go better for you if you tell me all I wish to know, otherwise I will have to use nefarious means.”

Their baba told her and Mehmed that it was always nice to ask for something first and if you were denied, then try to bargain for it. Only after you tried the first two methods could you use force, the third option, by doing what you needed to do by any means necessary.

_I do not mind either method, but I do hope I do not bloody my boots already._

When Jade is met with silence she crouches down in front of the man, admiring his resolve but now she looks forward to breaking it.

“You should not have come here. Your master has sent you to your death, but fear not, Manat is waiting for you.”

Jade nodded her head to Jazu who stuffed balled cloth into the man’s mouth, before Heron and Creon picked the man up and laid him down on the table, belly up. She walked over to her counter, her fingers glossing lightly over the assortment of tools at her disposal and she took a deep breath in preparation.

She grabs the thin sharp blade that is no bigger than her pinky nail, Jade has always been a fan of starting small before going big. There is a method to interrogation, if you cut a man too quickly, they may bleed out and so that is why she studied the human body extensively.

Not many things are illegal in Asshai and she put that statement into good use while she lived there. Lady Liopa had guided her but now she is on her own, no guiding hand to hold her as she makes incisions like when she did under her direction. She would be nervous, but her teacher had given her a mask and she cannot doubt her teacher nor herself, not at this moment in time.

“It has been awhile since I’ve done what I am about to do, but my Lady has taught me well. Unfortunately for you, you have information I need so I am forced to use everything at my disposal to retrieve it from you.”

Jade leans forward over the table, pulling at the man’s tunic as she slices the fabric away, the sound of heavy breathing emitting throughout the room.

Posted: 08/14/2020

Edited: 08/14/2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every  
> Villain  
> Is  
> Lemons
> 
> E.V.I.L
> 
> hope everyone is being safe and conscious about keeping sanitized.
> 
> Edit: WAIT. LMAO I just realized that Mehmed has a “I kind of hated my dad for a moment in time but I learned how to move past it and you can too” club and he’s bringing Deria in as a second member. 
> 
> In this household we stan moving past your trauma!


	29. Interlude: Jaime III / Arthur II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peace in the west. In the south however, a gift is returned to the Crown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's so much going on in life lol, my life was chill and then this week everything hit x4 on the dvr. Got hired on to be a science teacher and I'm very happy about that, my birthday is on friday and i'll be 24 so I'm glad I'm hitting my personal milestones pretty early on. This would be much better if covid wasn't a thing, but I'll make do, I always do.
> 
> So yeah this fic only has like 4-6 more chapters left to go, since I'll be starting work soon, I'm trying to finish this and Lex Talionis up. It'll be short fics for me until the next summer break when I can devote a lot of time. I'd rather just do short fics in the interim between now and then. Really happy with what I've done with this fic, definitely have grown as far as writing wise. 
> 
> Chapter 30 will be the unofficial official last chapter with the last 4(maybe 5? idk) being epilogue chapters of future events. So the final chapter count will either be 34 or 35 idk yet.

Jaime sat in his solar, finally glad to have a moment of peace as his father had just completed the preparations for his sister’s wedding and the letter arrived just this morning. He was glad, that his heart did not seem so burdened as it once did when he thought about Cersei, mayhaps it was because he knew that she would be happier away from their father and brother – as she was given reign over Ashemark as its new lady.

When Jaime left the capital, with his father remaining behind as was his position as Hand of the King, Jaime knew now would be the time to showcase himself not just to his father as his heir, but also to the westerlands.

Jaime knew he needed to showcase to his people that he could be a good ruler, could be everything that they admired and feared about his father, but he also wanted to do so in his own way. It helped that he had his wife, Denyse by his side who gave him counsel just like his own mother use to do for his father.

It was nice being able to sit in his solar and have his wife come in, in her flowing gowns with her neck exposed, offering him her thoughts and words of encouragement when he grew tired.

_It doesn’t hurt that she is also quite the beauty too._

Cersei is beautiful yes, but there is a quality to Denyse that cannot be replicated by his sister nor of any fair lady in his lands. Denyse reminded him of the sands on the beaches, so soft under his feet and hands and she soaked up everything she could. So much so, that she has become a close friend to his brother, Tyrion.

Tyrion who only received maternal affection from their aunt Genna, had been more than happy to have Denyse doting upon him and offering kind words when his brother hardly received any from their father and sister.

It gave him some hope, that the marriage he sought for himself was turning out to be a good one and remained to be a good one. The same way Jaime liked Elia, for when she first saw Tyrion, she did not flinch away at the babe in the cradle but had cooed and touched him soothingly – Denyse did the same with affectionate head rubs and kind words.

Just as easily as his wife could be gentle like the sand under his feet, she just as easily held glass in her depths. A servant had been caught treating Tyrion unfairly – which wasn’t an uncommon thing – but Jaime assumed that since his father was gone, the servants were looser in their actions and didn’t think about the consequences – Denyse had changed that perception quickly, before Jaime himself had time to rectify it.

Denyse had ordered two red cloaks to take the female servant and have them flog the girl ten times, in accordance to the ten words the servant had spoken Tyrion.

Suffice to say, no one has said a word against his brother in a long while. Oddly enough, Cersei seemed to approve when she spoke to him about it.

“That means your little wife won’t be ran over roughshod. No matter my feelings on Tyrion, he is a Lannister,” Cersei had stated bluntly before leaving Jaime alone with his thoughts.

Until his dying day, Jaime will always wonder what Elia said to Cersei. It wasn’t that his sister was joyful or kind to Tyrion, but the vitriol wasn’t as prominent, especially since she spent more time with Addam, who listened to Cersei and her thoughts.

He knew his sister had issues, just as they all did with having a father like Lord Tywin, but he suspected she warmed to Addam the same way Elia had warmed to Mehmed, the same way he warmed to Denyse: Addam listened and didn’t discount her.

Jaime could count himself lucky that Lysa Tully had married that Baelish fellow, therefore removing her from his sights, as she had once been considered as a bride for him.

_The gods are kind, with their mercy for me._

Jaime sighed as he leaned back in his seat, running a hand through his head and reclines in his seat, one of his arms resting on the armrest as he looks up when a knock is heard against the door.

“Come in,” he shouted.

The door opens and he watched his wife enter his solar, there is a small protruding bump in her middle section, signs that their wedding night had been most fruitful. His father was so pleased that he has already begun to set aside gold for when the babe is born, to his father it matters not if it is male or female. If it is male, it shall be Jaime’s heir, but if it is female it shall be Prince Viserys’ wife and thus the future queen; his father is, dare he say _gleeful_ of Denyse being pregnant.

“Denyse, what is it?” Jaime watches as she rounds his desk, leaning against it as she grabs his hand, pressing it against her belly.

“I figured you could do with a break. You have been inside your solar all morning. I wanted to see you. I also have been wondering about names and what you wish to name this one, I figured it would be a westerlanders’ name.”

As his large hands rub across his wife’s belly, ever since he found out Denyse was with child, Jaime had been counting the days until he feels movement or even a kick from his babe. Maester Jason says that movement can usually be felt between five and six moons and Denyse is only four moons along at the moment.

As his hands move absentmindedly, he takes a moment to stare at his wife as her curly blonde hair are a few shades lighter than his own golden curls. Her face is restful, and there’s a tilt to her lips to let him know that she is pleased by his actions of rubbing her belly. Her honeyed brown eyes sparkle as she stands in the path of sunlight that is flittering in through the windows of his solar.

“I thought of Tyland for a boy, my ancestor was named as Hand of the King by Viserys I and he sided with the greens, along with having something of my father in his name. For a girl I thought of Rohanne, for my great grandmother. She was a fierce woman, she enjoyed archery and was quick with her words. A fine example if we are to have a daughter.”

It would also be a strong name for a queen, for even Ser Duncan the Tall had fell for the Red Widow.

“Those are good names and I am sure your father will be pleased with the name Tyland, for I imagine if our son will grow close to Prince Viserys as they grow up with the prince being fostered here. Mayhaps they shall be friends once like Aerys and your father were.”

“Possibly my dear. Come, you are right I have been cooped up in here for a while. Where is Tyrion?”

Jaime stood up from his seat, stretching out my limbs like a cat before pulling his wife forward from the desk, securing her hand to his arm, as he listened to her explain to where his brother was.

In the library of course, after he finished his morning lesson with Maester Jason, his brother could often be found in his own solar or in the library, reading a book about this or that. Some tomes had been sent from Elia while she was still in Dorne, telling of tales from the far east of sea dragons and basilisk.

Tyrion had been enthralled by the tomes, treasuring them like lost treasures and he had been happy that Elia had been kind enough to think about his brother.

As Jaime and Denyse walked, he kept stealing glances at her as they passed servants who bowed to their lord and lady. Denyse was easy to like with her easy smiles and even giggles though she never smiled or giggled in front of his father – his father did not trust smiles – she would give her smiles up easy enough for him.

He has also found her talking to Cersei a time or two, but Cersei has her own ladies around her and as Denyse secures, he place as Lady of Casterly Rock, Cersei is busy solidifying hers for when she leaves for Ashemark.

As they walk, he wonders if this is love but he cannot say for sure because he thought he had loved Cersei but that had been twisted and demented. What he felt for Denyse was that of fondness, of being happy when he rolled over in the morning and she was in his bed, one of her hands cupping her stomach already so protective of the babe growing there.

It was her kindness to Tyrion that besotted him, he thinks as they enter the library and he watches as Tyrion smiles up at them, his mismatched eyes happier than he’s seen in forever.

Tyrion is left to his own devices when he is not in his lessons or writing letters to Prince Viserys, their father in the capital and Cersei busy with her betrothed, Addam had even taken Cersei on a hunt, offering to teach her how to shoot a bow. It wasn’t a sword like Cersei had wanted when they were younger, but he had given Addam advice on how to win his sister’s heart and she had been gifted a dagger by Lord Damon, who thought the future Lady of Ashemark should be just as fierce as the Lady Tyshara had been when she was alive.

Tyrion had possibly been more excited than their father and Jaime himself, when he found out he was going to be uncle. He had immediately left, drawing up sketches of toys and trinkets that the babe could use to encourage a healthy mind.

 _The Seven know I hardly cared for my lessons as a boy._ Which was true enough, as they sat down in front of Tyrion as he began to put his books away, keeping them neat as he was often to do.

“Sorry for the mess, time passes by so fast when I find myself trapped in these pages.”

Jaime smiles wistfully, pitying his brother for he only has letters that are sent between the Rock and Dragonstone between Prince Viserys and himself. His brother needs more friends and his father plans on speaking to Lord Stannis soon about fostering his little brother, Renly to the west.

His father can make his demands of the king, because the Lannisters did help give Rhaegar his crown and is helping to keep his crown (though the same won’t be said for the toddler Crown Prince), the king is more than willing to keep his Hand happy, much more than Aerys ever did.

“That’s all right Tyrion, I figured we could eat lunch together and you can tell me what else you have come up with to better the west. I know my brother Baelor is sending some books that he got from the Citadel for you,” Denyse answered.

“I will have to send my thanks to Baelor, the last few books he has sent have been quite interesting about the Garth the Gardner and his daughters Florys the Fox and Rowan Gold-Tree, between either woman, one of them is the mother of Lann the Clever. I’ve been searching for more books on Lann, hoping to find out who his mother truly was. Though I am betting all the gold in Tarbeck Hall, that his mother was Florys, foxes are clever and tricky things, it seems fitting that our ancestor is called Lann the Clever.”

Jaime laughed at this, mushing Tyrion’s head as they left the library, listening to Tyrion list off reasons on who their ancestor’s mother was.

Jaime did not care much, but between Denyse laughing at Tyrion’s reasoning and Tyrion trying to prove that he was indeed correct, with no factual evidence, it made him smile.

Three years he had lived with constant stress and he is happy that his father allowed him to leave King’s Landing without fuss, for the more time he spent in the shit infested capital, the more he hated it. It reeked something awful and he hopes that with all the plans that Rhaegar has, the first thing the king does, is clear out Fleabottom.

_If my daughter is to be queen, I’d rather not have to smell shit when I visited._

* * *

Arthur once again found himself in the throne room, watching and listening by the throne as Rhaegar gave out judgments for petty crimes and the like.

The tension in the Red Keep has been palpable as of late, especially amongst the members of the small council as they all look towards the queen to be with child again. It has been about a year and some moons since the Crown Prince was born, and now the Crown needs a spare or even a daughter.

Arthur knows the irritation of Rhaegar, because he had believed that Lyanna was the ice to his fire and that from her, the three heads of the dragon would be reborn. Queen Dowager Rhaella had suffered through plenty of miscarriages before she gave birth to Viserys, but she had given birth to Rhaegar at thirteen compared to Lyanna who was three year older than that when Aegon was born in that blasted tower.

The nobles at court kept whispering, creating more drama as the new queen tried to navigate her way through the intrigues of court, but Lyanna was on her own for the dowager queen resided either on Dragonstone or went to Driftmark, letting the new queen flounder by herself. It was hardly any secret that the old queen did not care much for the new queen, Arthur himself had seen the fallout for it and he pitied both women. One woman saw the other as someone as irresponsible as her uncles who broke betrothals for their own whims, her son and his lady love following in the same footsteps that made her life hellish had been a serious blow. Lyanna was just young and she had shirked her lessons for sword fighting growing up and no matter how well she did as the Knight of the Laughing Tree, sword fighting had nothing to do with ruling a keep, lest she wanted to hold the cook at sword point for dinner. 

Arthur thought it unnecessarily cruel, but no one, not even Lord Tywin who was cruel by its definition thought to have Queen Rhaella come back to the capital. For all that Rhaegar’s mother was, she had did her duty, even under the brutality of Aerys and no one was willing to spare Lyanna who went with Rhaegar on her own accord.

The standard had been set, Queen Rhaella had done it at thirteen, Elia had done it even with her frail health and now Lyanna must too.

_Too bad this isn’t Dorne._

Because women in Dorne were more than their sex and their wombs, but alas that did not matter much, not to these nobles who kept to Andal laws so strictly.

“Presenting, Qian Lu, Envoy to Her Highness, Princess Jade, the Imperial Ambassador to Great Moraq.”

His thoughts are sidetracked as a messenger walked towards the throne and Arthur noticed the long braid swinging behind the man. He has tanned skin, but he is tall and lithe like a feline and for a moment Arthur remembers the appearances of the Sultan Mehmed and his sister, the Imperial Princess Jade.

His stomach begins to curdle as the man steps to the side as a box is presented behind him, the box is standing upright and it reminds Arthur of the wooden coffins that had traveled out of the capital after the war, to be buried in open fields.

The envoy barely even bows in acknowledgement as his long braid sweeps down in small moments before the man corrects himself.

“My beloved princess has sent me here to send her regards and to return what you have been missing, Your Grace.”

“Is that so?” Rhaegar asked but even Arthur can detect the hint of uneasiness in his king’s voice. The nobles at court are all looking at the envoy who seems quite happy to be here in the service of his princess.

“Oh yes, I am here to return your spy, though he has expired. It seems he was not up to the task of Princess Jade… _interrogating_ him. Prince Doran thought it was only right that this man be returned to his master, as it is the polite thing to do.”

Arthur didn’t know what to think about this, a princess interrogating a man? Even in Dorne that was unusual unless it was an Uller woman but like the saying goes they were either half mad or half worse.

It seemed his king had good enough sense because he tasked Ser Barristan and Ser Oswell to take the coffin and remove it from the throne room. Qian Lu seemed quite pleased about this and he pulled a letter from his robes, handing it off to the seneschal before he bowed his head, with no more grace than he did the first time and turn and walked out – his long braid swaying behind him.

The throne room was silent, as no doubt the nobles wanted to know what exactly was in the coffin, but Arthur had a feeling and based upon the grim line on Lord Tywin’s face, so did he.

It had only taken an hour before Rhaegar left the throne room, with the rest of the Kingsguard following after, towards the small council chamber where everyone else was waiting.

“Open it, Ser Oswell,” Rhaegar demanded.

The coffin creaked open and while there was no perceptible odor, the sight that they were met with was something utterly disturbing and that said much considering the previous king Arthur had served.

The dead man had his hands bound in front of him, with small scars littering his body; Arthur noticed how no blood was found on the scars, as though the man had been bathed before placed in the coffin. As his gaze traveled upwards, he noticed how the man’s chest was blackened, as though he had been hit with Robert Baratheon’s war hammer.

Oddly enough the most disturbing thing about the corpse – in Arthur’s opinion – was that the man’s lips were blue, and they had been sewn shut with black thread in a bizarre design. Great detail must have been given as the stitches were fine and clean, also too clean… _too_ perfect.

It unnerved him, greatly.

“Who sent it?” It was not that they did not know who sent it, but _who_ sent it. Did the envoy lie, and this was actually Prince Oberyn's work? What about that letter the seneschal had taken and what was written in it? Rhaegar looked almost as distressed as Arthur, but it had been Ser Barristan who had been studying the corpse, that pulled open one of the corpse’s hands that was clenching onto some parchment.

The unwrapping of the parchment could be heard, and Arthur watched as Ser Barristan read it, confusion marring his face before he masked it into the same undisturbed look they all perfected being Aerys’ Kingsguard.

“It is from Dorne, the writing is feminine. By Princess Jade’s own hand, I suspect. The envoy did not lie.”

_This was her?! Seven hells._

“It looks like nightshade of the evening on the lips, a favorite amongst the warlocks in Qarth,” The Spider’s voice was as soft and silky as his robes.

“So, it appears to be, a most astute observation Lord Varys,” Lord Monford Velaryon spoke, as though Varys had stated the obvious.

Arthur could do nothing but keep a haggard sigh from escaping his lips as the two adversaries passed nonchalant looks at one another. The tension within the small council was always riddled with friction, not just with the queen and her not being with child once more but also between the council members.

If it weren’t one thing then it was another and Arthur wondered how many kings he would serve before peace would be in the realm. At first, he thought Rhaegar had been the answer to Aerys, but now he sees that his thought process had been flawed.

_Dorne has bloomed on its own, without help from the throne. Will the Greenblood flow through the rest of Dorne?_

_I will never see it with my own eyes. I will only return when I die, and my bones are given back to Starfall._

“What does the letter say, Ser Barristan?” Rhaegar is sitting in his chair, his fingers thrumming against the table as his purple gaze hardened on the Bold knight.

“ _A little mouse had found himself in these harsh sands, fear not we are a most gracious host, to our friends, of course. The mouse sat between a scorpion, viper, and an eagle, but his squeaking was too loud to be ignored thus disturbing our other guests. The mouse squeaked and squirmed even more as the eagle soared above him, but he sung a beautiful song in the darkness of the night. A song of dragons and spiders, gazing upon what they should not. Beware to not linger long, beware to not let your eyes fester or healing wounds shall fester more,_ signed by Princess Jade Martell and Prince of Dorne, Doran Martell.”

“A vicious woman, that one is,” Grand Maester Pycelle spoke, as he stroked his grey beard.

“The Red Viper would not settle for less, why would he not seek to marry someone as vicious as him?” Lord Monford spoke again, voicing his opinion that was really not needed.

Arthur only seen the Princess Jade when Ser Jaime had been married, the princess was quite beautiful, exotic with her honeyed eyes and long limbs. On Prince Oberyn’s arm, she looked like quite the catch as far as arranged marriages went, but even Arthur could see from the amorous touches they shared at the feast and dance, there was passion involved.

It seems his judgement was wrong, once again… _though I doubt it will be the last time I am wrong either._

Arthur had also seen Elia, she had looked stunning, more stunning than before and he could easily admit that his heart had tightened so much so that he felt his ribs were bruised when he saw her again. He had tried to pay close to attention to her, trying to soak up her image but every time he looked, she was always with her husband; smiling up at him and laughing under her breath though it never looked like the man said anything. She looked better, healthier than when he saw her when he returned with Rhaegar to King’s Landing.

_She looked happy._

It had been hard to know another man had been able to do what he himself use to do, what he wanted to do even now still as she was far away, sharing a bed with another man. Arthur had tried, wishing against hope that he could speak to her alone, but her guards were always with her and he never had the opportunity, all he wanted was to apologize to her for his short comings. He often wondered if he had been on the Trident, would Prince Lewyn’s life had been saved instead? Arthur would have gladly died on the Trident, ensuring Elia’s uncle live, in some form of atonement to make up for his shortcomings but the absolution he wanted from her would never be given.

His hand went to the hilt of his sword before he froze, remembering that Dawn was long gone, no longer at his side to comfort him and to quell his haunting thoughts.

"What does the other letter say?" Lord Tywin wanted to know. 

"It says to not linger where we are not wanted," Ser Barristan spoke up in the quieted room. 

“Why was this man sent anyway? I thought it was agreed upon that we would leave Dorne alone, lest we stir the viper’s nest, which we now have?” Lord Tywin sounded angry, angry that Rhaegar disobeyed the agreement that had been made all those moons ago when Dorne first left the King’s peace.

“The Martells have dragon eggs, that cannot be.” Grand Maester Pycelle read off the small piece of parchment that had been shoved in his hands by the Griffin lord.

“As I am sure Sultana Elia took one of the eggs for herself when she sailed to her new empire. Are spies going to be sent to Great Moraq in order to steal the egg? What should happen if Yi Ti and Leng get involved along with Dorne? The riches in the far east are no secret, so we bring war on our heads with that triad, along with Dorne and whatever funds they all pull together for sellswords.” Lord Tywin looked at Rhaegar strangely, liked a father disappointed in a child for not thinking through their actions.

For as much as Arthur dislikes the Old Lion, he has made great points. Westeros cannot afford to go to war, they are near the two-year mark of the end of the Rebellion, but those wounds are still healing, as Princess Jade’s written words sound like an echo in his mind.

That’s not to mention that with only Aegon and Viserys as male Targaryens, the Crown is in desperate need to secure themselves in their power. What good would dragons do if there is no one to ride them, it is not like if Rhaegar was to get those eggs, they would hatch for him and his family.

_There is simply no telling, the risks outweigh the potential benefits. Dorne wants nothing to do with the Iron Throne, just the same as Essos is watching Westeros in anticipation, to see if the Targaryens will finally fall like the Valyrian Empire did._

“Let us leave this matter alone, Your Grace. We need to focus on more important matters like the Greyjoys who have not sent an envoy swearing their allegiance to your rule, after all this time. The matter of the queen, not being pregnant when Sultana Elia had been your wife, she had a daughter within your first year of marriage and had been well on her way with a son before she miscarried. Let us put away these thoughts and focus on more important matters.” Lord Tywin was a no-nonsense man and he could see the way the man’s eyes went colder at the mention of Queen Lyanna not being with child.

Arthur thought her first birth had been hard, that she needed more time considering she only had one woman attending her while she was pregnant in that tower. Mayhaps she would be like Queen Dowager Rhaella, who had suffered through many miscarriages and cradle deaths before Prince Viserys was born and lived past his first three years.

“We shall discuss this later, yes let us speak about more important matters,” Rhaegar nodded his head in acquiesce.

The wooden coffin was taken from the room, but the parchment remained on the council table as Arthur stood listening of ways to bring the Iron Islands to heel. The former Sword of the Morning did as he always did, stood against the wall, and watched, watched, and listened as the hours dragged on. His life was more monotonous than before, but he tried not to live in the past wanting to focus on the present, but those wounds still festered no matter how much he cleaned them. Past regrets and wants, wanting something that was unattainable, wanting Dawn back, wanting to see Ashara and Allyria and even Gerion. He wanted to go to the Water Gardens and watch the children of Dorne play with one another, he wanted to go to the barracks and see Prince Lewyn whetting his blade, a witted joke on his tongue about one thing or another.

Arthur Dayne wanted a lot, just like his king did but unlike his king, Arthur knew some past glories could not be obtained again. So, on he went, watching and listening to matters of the realm, until his king had need of him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be safe out there folks, life is crazy and it isn't promised so make it count.


	30. A Shadowed Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking a different path doesn't mean you won't arrive at your original destination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argh, well this is it folks, we made it. I made it, my first full length fic and wow. I'm really thankful you guys hung around and all your encouraging words have really made this journey easy for me. I'll be adding the bonus epilogues later on throughout the week and I especially look forward to doing Deria and Viserys once their older. Ah both will have their own journeys to go one, from finding themselves and experiencing the joys of young love.
> 
> So far I only have three epilogues planned, just Elia with her kids, Deria growing up and Viserys. Those are the main three I really want to focus on and it'll be enough to make it nice and juicy.

Elia was laying down, her swollen ankles propped up on a pillow as she enjoyed the wind that carried in from lone balcony door that was ajar. Her hands rubbed her belly soothingly as she snuggled deeper into her chaise, the quilt on her legs keeping her warm as she drifted in and out of an afternoon nap.

Elia had wanted a baby, something to give her husband, a child born of requited love that had been slow to nurture but it had blossomed, nonetheless.

What she hadn’t accounted for was the possibility of carrying twins, she had been in short denial before Healer Nyla spoke of the recorded history of the Martells that had been collected when they were still in Dorne. Tremond and Dremond Gargalen had been twins, her great grandfather and great uncle, respectively; when she had swam in the Rhoyne she had only asked for one and instead she had been doubly blessed with two.

Elia and Mehmed had only found out when they returned to Moraq after their progress, which led to the whole palace congratulating them and Mehmed had written his own parents for their early return with the news.

That whole ordeal had been tiring, for herself and her husband as every Han in the vicinity came to wish them well wishes and good health. But that had been three moons ago and now at seven moons along, Elia felt big, _too_ big really. She couldn’t see her feet unless she was lying down and lifted them in the air, and her servants had taken great care to help her while she bathed.

New gowns had to be commissioned because while her old gowns when she was pregnant with Deria and even Egg would have fit, they certainly wouldn’t have been able to with the twins she was carrying – not counting her new breast size. Now that, was something that had pleased Elia, who had always had a small chest size, she only hoped that they would keep like this even after her babies were born. She had great hope, considering with this pregnancy she wasn’t in gloomy Dragonstone nor dealing with an unfaithful husband or a deranged madman this time around.

No, she got all the sun she wanted, she was not kept in confinement and Elia could still keep to her duties as the sultana, working on a Moraqi version of the Water Gardens for the children of Moraq. While noble children went to the Imperial Academy to learn, it would still do good for all children at some point in the empire, to play with one another just as the children in Dorne did.

Ashara had been good with helping, more than good really as her anger was slow to dissipate but dissipate it did. Zaganos and Ashara were kind enough to wait until after the twins were born to have their wedding, because of all the pomp that would be involved. Both were great friends and near brother and sister to the Sultan and Sultana of Great Moraq, it wouldn’t do that their wedding went about unnoticed, though Ashara wanted a small ceremony – as small as it could be – in any case.

When they had returned to Moraq, Elia had written letters to her family and Jaime, telling them the news and just last month did she receive letters back from messengers, though Jaime’s had taken longer to arrive. Throughout the progress, Elia had written of the sights she had saw and even some sketches she had made, a funny one had been of the monkey tail hat, Bu Gai had worn that made Deria giggle as the man walked, though he took no offense to her innocent laughs.

Throughout her pregnancy, Elia has worked diligently to do the one thing she had never really managed to do while pregnant with Deria and Egg – be at peace. Even with her duties, she had help from Lady Mara and Ashara which alleviated any stress that came with the architects as they would bicker with each other of when to start building, based upon the Moraqi calendar which was complicated in itself.

The bathhouse servants came to her every day in the late morning and evenings, massaging away her back aches and sore legs, easing the tension from her frame. The chefs always sent a serving of blood oranges and sticky buns, the two foods she craved the most, the buns being filled with meat to help her throughout the day and the blood oranges to cleanse her palate afterward.

The healers worked alongside the chef, finding food that Elia could eat without complaint but also making sure she ate healthy for not just herself but also her babes.

As her thoughts drift, just as easy with the wind blowing into the room, she keep help but wonder what this kind of care would have been like for Rhaella who suffered through so many miscarriages. If she had this kind of gentle care, if she had not been kept away in Maegor’s Holdfast but instead got to walk the gardens and smelled the flowers, basking in the sun, would those miscarriages not have happened?

Deria’s birth had taken a lot of strength from her, almost killed her just as her miscarriage had, but even now, Elia still held that small morsel of fear, she had been pregnant with lone babes both times but now there was two within her. Mehmed had told her – warned her really – to not worry about it, to let the healers do what they did and that didn’t count the warlocks Mehmed kept council with. Her husband had told to stop worrying, lest she puts herself in a tizzy and something unfortunate happens. She had heeded her husband’s worries and tried to think positive, which was why she why lying down now.

The healers thought it good that she take afternoon naps, keeping herself well rested and not fatigued would do wonders and they had been right. During their progress, Elia had been tired, but so had Mehmed and she had thought nothing of it, but now that she had two babies living in her, everyone seemed to pay attention to her, even more if that was possible.

If Elia happened to be walking around the palace, one of the Han cousins would see her and ask if she needed an escort for her afternoon nap, or if she needed to use their rooms to lie down in, or if she wanted food, or a drink, or wanted company and while it was sweet – at times she just wanted to beat them away with a stick.

There was just so many of them and there were even triplets! Elia had thought herself going crazy when she saw the same person, three times in a short matter of minutes before they all appeared in front of her. Elia had never seen triplets before, and Cersei and Jaime were the only twins she knew.

Mehmed said, Xiang, Liang, Jiang were the troublemakers – little foxes he called them – as they were always up to something. It reminded her too much of Arianne and Tyene, _too much of Oberyn and I_ , though she wouldn’t admit to that out loud.

But that was alright, her days were filled with laughter by their antics as they seemed to take it upon themselves to keep her entertained and thus free of stress, they were a handful, but she was thankful all the same.

As she dozed off with her drifting thoughts, she was suddenly awakened by her daughter calling out to her, “Mama!”

Elia shifted, turning her head a little to look at her daughter who was holding something covered in her hand though Elia could see that whatever it was, it was moving.

“My little sun, how are you?” Elia took notice of her daughter, whose eyes were bright in fervor, almost giddy as she bounced from one foot to the other. The braids Elia had done earlier in the morning were a bit messy though she figured her daughter had been with Lee, doing whatever they did in the library and gardens.

“I’m fine, of course. You don’t need to worry about me, here! It’s for you.” Her daughter pulled off the cloth covering the…well she didn’t know exactly what it was. It had whiskers and large green eyes, but it was bald, no hair in sight.

“Oh, my love…you shouldn’t have,” because Elia really didn’t know what she was supposed to do with this…dog? Cat?

When Elia looked above her daughter, Mehmed was standing there, his mouth tugged in the corners and he seemed infinitely pleased by her reaction. Elia sat up, pushing herself again the chaise as she looked at her ‘gift’ again.

“What exactly, is it?” She asked.

“It’s a cat, of course mama! See!” Deria shoved the cat in Elia’s face and it was as though the cat knew it needed to impress her because it meowed, in the most boring tone.

Of course, it would be a cat, Deria had loved Balerion and had been very thankful that her uncle Oberyn had given him to her. But she left Balerion with Viserys, when they had been separated and she wanted Balerion to keep her uncle Vissy company. Deria had her birds now, who sung pretty songs to their little princess, but Elia should not have been surprised that her daughter picked up another unruly cat.

“Oh, yes a cat, I see now.” Not really, but her daughter seemed so proud and Elia smiled in turn, still looking at the cat in wonder. She had never seen a bald cat before, there were no scars on the cat to show that it had been in a fight and had it’s hair pulled out by another so maybe it had been born bald.

_How odd, but then again Deria likes odd things. Balerion had hated almost everyone except Deria, Viserys, Rhaella and I. I always wondered how Oberyn managed to catch the little monster._

“Yeah, see it has green eyes and it’s skin is kinda gold, like Uncle Jaime. You said he was a fine knight, so here is Ser Emmy!”

At this, Elia had to laugh, because there was no denying that her daughter spent a lot of time with Mehmed who always reasoned things by being logical. It seemed her daughter was picking up on this Han trait, and Elia held her hands out as Deria placed the cat in them, and then her daughter smiled up at Mehmed who had rubbed her head and her daughter smiled even brighter.

“He’ll keep you company, like a good knight should.” Once again, her daughter using logic, when Deria had been born, her Uncle Lewyn had been by her side and watched with Elia as her daughter grew up. From Uncle Lewyn, then it had been Ser Jaime who had kept them company when he could, it made sense her daughter would think that knights were companions, which they were in their own way.

Elia beckoned her daughter closer, as Ser Emmy snuggled into Elia, taking care to rest on her large breast as he mewled in content. She pressed a kiss to her daughter’s forehead, her fingers drifting over her daughter’s messy braids, “thank you, my love. You are most kind.”

Her daughter blinked at her, before offering her a wide smile, showing off a dimple in her right cheek, the same one Oberyn has, before she dashed out of the room.

The wind is still blowing in the room and Mehmed takes care to pull the quilt higher up on his wife, before she watches him sit down at the end of the chaise, pulling her feet off the pillow and onto his lap instead.

“I thought you would be in your solar, or even at Beylerbeyi Palace.” Most days, Elia, and Mehmed both left their palace to go to the Beylerbeyi, handling matters of the empire with Elia most often than not leaving before Mehmed as he was often with his council.

“Is it so wrong to what to see my wife and children?” He spoke lowly as he began massaging her feet.

A non-committal hum was all that she offered as she relaxed back into her seat, running her hands over Ser Emmy, laughing to herself as she thought about the next letter, she would be sending Jaime. Elia actually wanted to have a professional sketch made to send to Jaime, knowing he will laugh at this also – though she doubted Lord Tywin would be pleased. Her daughter finding a naked cat to act in Jaime’s place as a knight? A giggle escaped her lips at the thought.

“Well you are no lion, little knight but I imagine your naked appearance will give anyone pause.” She spoke to Ser Emmy, who was purring, sending soft vibrations into her chest.

“Can I ask, where she found this cat? How old is it, do you think?” Elia asked her husband, as she traced her new cat’s paw, admiring how soft he felt.

“I believe it is just a year old, the explorer found his litter while exploring the Kingdom of the Ifequevron. It took some time for the healers to examine the cat before he could be presented to you.” Mehmed spoke and Elia continued to stroke the kitten.

Ser Emmy did not seem older than Balerion but all the wrinkles on the cat gave off the false appearance that the cat was older than his actual age.

“I shall have to have some aloe vera be made specifically for Ser Emmy, along with some macadamia nut oil too for his bald skin. I imagine it would hurt quite a bit for his skin to be burned in the sun. Maybe even some sweaters or little tunics for him also.” Though she murmured the last bit to herself because clothes were already being made for her twin babes and it wouldn’t be too much trouble to have some little clothes made for Ser Emmy.

“Have you thought of which names you wanted for the babes?” Mehmed spoke once more.

“I figured our son should have a Moraqi name, I like Bayezid, as does your mother. But if they are both boys then perhaps Bayezid for one and Doryn for the other, after my brothers. I like Mara for a girl, for your own mother and also because there was a Ruling Princess of Dorne named Mara, the daughter of Prince Morion. Myriah and Dyanna are also good names, I like Myriah a lot.”

“All good names, mayhaps when the times comes, we shall know what to name them.”

Her husband had stopped massaging her feet and moved his hands to her stomach, rubbing it gently and paying special attention to where fluttering kicks could be felt.

“They are quite active whenever I wake from my naps,” Elia said wincing a little when one kick felt too hard.

“You must be gentle with your mother; she is a delicate thing.” Mehmed spoke to her stomach, making Elia smile because at night, Mehmed often spoke to her stomach. The healers encouraged it, saying it is good for the babes to know their father’s voice before they are even born. Elia herself often hummed to them, singing Rhoynar songs as she rubbed her belly just as she did with Deria and Egg. It could explain why Deria herself loves her singing and why her daughter has begun to sing also.

“I’m not some gentle flower, you know.” _Not anymore at least._ A flower without thorns she use to be, but the time had passed for such novelties.

“No, you are not, but delicate and precious you are, all the same.” Elia could feel her eyes prickle at his words and if there was another thing has been different from this pregnancy compared to her previous ones, was how emotional she could find herself to be.

No matter how much Mehmed sworn he was not a romantic, he based himself in logic and said what was most logical to him. Other women may not wish for a man so blunt with his words, but Elia has always found it to be a welcome, to know he is honest in his feelings towards her. Her husband does not count himself as a romantic but what is a woman to do when her husband says words such as these?

“You will make me cry, please don’t.” Outside of her emotions being wild, she found her sexual appetite had also increased, and Mehmed did not have any objections with her being so greedy with her desires.

“Yes, we do not need another pillow situation, now do we?” He seemed smug and Elia pinched his arm in jest, though she struggled to over her stomach and Ser Emmy laying on her.

Mehmed had a pillow made for her that was the size of her own body to lay against as night, to keep her back from aching while she slept, and Elia had cried fat tears when he presented it to her. Her husband had not known what to do with her tears, so he just cuddled her close, as she tried to dry them away, while he comforted her in soothing words.

Now Elia was sure she would never hear the end of it, but she couldn’t really be blamed, it wasn’t her fault so she so emotional. If anything, she had taken such a relaxed stance on things that her daughter could bring home an elephant and Elia wouldn’t even bash an eyelash. Elia had prayed for a babe and Mother Rhoyne saw fit to give her two, she would not do anything to jeopardize them.

“Are you happy, with this? With us?” Elia blurted out her question, the wind howling just outside as it picked up, with the evenings growing longer with summer approaching. Her babes will be born in the summer, just as Elia had been, just as Deria had been too. The Rhoynar believed that summer was the season of Mother Rhoyne, when she descended from the sky at the Old Men of the River’s call.

Elia wanted to know her husband was happy and satisfied with the choices he made just as she was. It had been a long and arduous journey for Elia when her time in King’s Landing looked like she would never see the sands of Dorne again. A dark thought making her believe that her and her daughter would die at Aerys’ hand with no one to protect them but Jaime and how close that reality came to be.

She is not without her flaws, without imperfections that seem blinding if a person knew what to look for when they stared at her, the way she could feel them be seen by Mehmed’s own piercing gaze and he didn’t seem to mind – for she showed him her scars and he showed her his. Their relationship has been give and take, always giving what was taken and making sure they remained equal, something which had not been given to her before.

The journey had been long, but the path longer still. Blood and bones laid out Elia’s path and even now she wonders about Nymeria’s ten thousand ships and the ten thousand fallen men of Dorne. _The gods will always want their due, there is no escaping that, even Mother Rhoyne._

Her thoughts are often a whirlpool just like those that reside in the Rhoyne; thoughts of if she had been healthier growing up, she would have been with Oberyn while he traveled, passing herself off as his squire. Mayhaps they would have ended up in Great Moraq anyway and she would have met Mehmed, for now they seemed to have been destined.

A lot of heartache and heartbreak could have been bypassed but as she sits on her chaise, with her wild black curls tucked behind her ears, staring at her husband whose hands still rest on her stomach…the journey may have been rough and perilous but this? If she had known what awaited her when she was forsaken in King’s Landing, Elia would have killed Aerys herself. Would have set herself free and sent Jaime away to Casterly Rock and took herself and Deria to Dorne, where she herself would have sailed to find Mehmed.

“Why do you ask what you already know?” He asked her in turn, withdrawing his hands from her stomach as he rearranged himself on the chaise, closer now to her chest as he pulled Ser Emmy from her and placed the kitten on the pillow that was used earlier for her ankles.

Her husband pulled her up, not minding her large belly and hugged her tightly, and Elia leaned into his embrace, inhaling his scent, her arms encircling him as best as she could.

“I would not have chosen anyone else; you give me companionship and love. You have given me your trust and heart for safekeeping as I have given you mine. From one, there shall now be three. I am quite happy, yes, Elia of course.”

Sometimes she needs verbal confirmation, especially when her husband if a man of action but it is welcome to know that his actions always matches with his words. Her husband’s lips on her own still feel like the first time they kissed on the sands in front of the Sea of Dorne. Elia wonders about a lot things but she knows she’ll never get tired of this feeling that dwells in her when she is near him.

The path in front of them is still long and she is not foolish to believe that everything will be roses and sunshine, but like the vows they made to each other when they married, they shall walk the path together.

Edited: 08/23/2020

Posted: 08/23/2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to finish Lex Talionis this weekend, but with 10-11k worded chapters, I figured I just completed ASP first and foremost, considering it's less work. My graduate courses have started so I'm really excited about that and I'll be dedicating more time to my studies since this is no longer undergrad and I'm really excited to read about all this juicy stuff in psychology. The fact that I'm excited for behavioral statistics is very fucking crazy because I generally dislike math but psyc. statistics? that's some good shit lmao.


	31. Epilogue I: Deria Nymeros Martell of House Han, The Righteous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The years of Deria, as she grows up and learns life is not a song, that we must all make choices and see them through. Some choices are easy, others are not, but even through difficulty, she keeps trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We didn't need a story, we didn't need a real world,  
> We just had to keep walking.  
> And we became the stories, we became the places  
> We were the lights, the deserts, the faraway worlds.  
> We were you before you even existed.
> 
> Carry on, carry on, carry on.  
> And after us the flood.  
> Carry on, carry on, carry on.  
> Our silver horn it leads the way.  
> Banners of gold shine.  
> In the cold, in the cold, in the cold,  
> Footprints of snow, blind from the road.  
> Hail!
> 
> We carry on, carry on.  
> Follow us, we are one.  
> The battle's fought, the deed is done.  
> Our silver hum runs deep and strong.  
> Hand to the heart, lips to the horn.  
> We can save, we can be reborn.  
> Head on my breast, I'll keep you warm.  
> Hail!"  
> \- Intro by M83

The beginning of her life had been a song, a princess born of the Crown Prince and Princess of Dorne.

It had started out sweet, her days of playing with Uncle Viserys, of him teaching her the Valyrian words he learned in his own lessons; of chasing Balerion through the keep, of smiling at Grandmother Rhaella whose eyes were always bright when she brought her flowers – so unusual from her somber ones.

If there is anything she truly remembers of her life before, it was her mother. Always her mother. Always there, singing softly to her when she laid down at night, soothing backrubs freely given and old songs in a language so unlike Valyrian.

Everything changed at one point, that much she remembers, but her mother, her mama remained the same.

Her life as Rhaenys, daughter of Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Princess Elia Nymeros Martell of Dorne had been short. Her life as Deria Sand had been even shorter, before her mother and her had arrived in her mother’s homeland and she been named Princess Deria Nymeros Martell. Her life as Princess Deria Nymeros Martell of House Han has been the longest she’s lived so far.

Deria struggled to understand all the changes, of why things are the way they are. Why she no longer sees Uncle Vissy or Grandmother Rhaella. Of why she doesn’t live where the dragon skulls dwelled anymore. Of why the silver-haired man on the throne had been so mean to her and mama. Deria misses Ser Jaime, he was kind and made mama smile whenever she seemed sad. She misses her Uncle Lewyn because he was funny and tickled her belly a lot and let her play with his hair; he disappeared too just like the silver-haired man who made a song for her.

There are many things Deria doesn’t understand.

Some things changed while others remained the same. She had been too young to understand then, and it wasn’t until she grew older and began asking more questions did she begin to have such a quintessential understanding of the way things were.

Some answers satisfied her, while others seemed to damn her.

* * *

_I think I’m brave enough now, or so I hope._ Deria’s feet carry her down the corridors, her gown ruffling softly as she passed by wide windows that allow sunlight to flitter through as she makes her way to her mama.

Deria watches as her mother sits with her ladies, though they have all since gotten married to Han cousins, except for Aunt Ashara who married Uncle Zaggy. Ladies Myria, Lerra, Janice and Ashara are all laughing as her twin siblings chase each other around, Bayezid and Myriah laughs ring loudly in the courtyard but Deria still watches from the shadows – her heart growing warm, as she notices her youngest brother, Doryn sitting in their mama’s arms, clapping his hands in glee.

 _I shouldn’t disturb mama, not when she is so happy._ Deria continues to watch for a few more moments before she returns back the way she came. _Mama is not the only one who has answers, baba must know too._

Deria is not a fool, at eight years old she does not think herself grown, but she does think herself smart. Her memories of her early life are foggy, hazy like murky waters, but she remembers – some things at least.

Before she was Deria she had been Rhaenys, daughter of Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Princess Elia of Dorne. That life had been short, ended before it could really begin and then she had been Deria Sand, which ended just as quickly as it came. But then her mama and her left for Dorne, she only saw Ser Jaime when she left but he had offered her a smile and a pinch on the cheek before bowing to her mama and kissing her right hand as they boarded a large ship, to sail to her mama’s homeland.

Her life as just Princess Deria Nymeros Martell had been nice, the Water Gardens were light and airy, not like how Dragonstone was or even the Red Keep where all those skulls were. Her uncles were funny, especially Uncle Oberyn who had the same dimples as her, though she only had one. Her cousin Sarella was smart, Tyene was mischievous – mama said Tyene was worse than her growing up – but she always did funny things. Nymeria was pretty and gave Deria a dagger when mama had been busy with her uncles. Obara was strong, the strongest woman Deria knew outside of her mama of course, her cousin liked to scowl but Deria had seen Obara smile too! She is quite pretty when she does so, although the smiles she gives to her sisters and Deria is different than the smile she wears when she’s sparring.

Deria’s time in Dorne had been different, it had been confusing because one moment her mama had been scared in King’s Landing but then the next her mama was angry and sad when they arrived in Dorne. So Deria kept on her best behavior, making drawings for her mama, and singing the same songs her mama sung to her when she was sad or had stomachache.

_But that was years ago._

Her arrival to her baba’s solar was quick, quicker than she thought even though she kept a gentle pace.

Deria knew her baba was alone and so she opened the door, making a small crack as she snuck in though it was for naught.

“Still creeping around the palace, Deria?”

Her lips tugged down while her baba’s tugged upwards and she pouted, putting a hand on her hip that was quite the reflection of her mama.

“It’s not creeping if no one knows I’m doing it,” she retorted, waving a hand dismissively.

It had taken some time for Deria to warm up to Mehmed, her baba, from the moment she met the tall man with piercing brown eyes she had been wary of him, not knowing him like she did her uncles or Ser Jaime. But he has always been kind to her, always talking to her, always explaining things that she has questions on.

“And yet, I know.” Her baba seemed quite pleased by his retort and Deria knows if her mama were here, she would have a retort in response.

“What did you need Deria?” At the reminder of why she sought out her her baba, her demeanor changed and the smile that had been flickering on her face, quickly disappeared.

“I want the truth; I didn’t want to disturb mama; she was sitting with her ladies while Bayezid and Myriah played. Doryn was sitting on her lap.”

Her baby brother was spoiled, as he was the baby and so they all doted upon him. Deria had been surprised at having another little brother, but pleased, nonetheless. Her Uncle Doran told her it was her duty, as the eldest sibling to lead her brothers and sister right – she took his words to heart and to task.

“The truth about what? If you are going to ask for something, remember to ask fully, so that the information you receive is total.” It was a soft rebuke and she ducked her down, before raising her head and stared at her baba fiercely.

“I want to know how **_we_** ended up here. I want to know…I want to know why mama returned to Dorne.” Her voice wavered, just minutely but she knew her baba heard because his eyes softened, honeying at her distress.

“Come little sun, come sit with me.” Her baba beckoned her around his birch wood desk, putting his strong hands under her arms to lift her into his lap and into his solid embrace.

For a moment she burrowed in his warmth, closing her eyes as she tried to be the big girl, she knew she was. It was not the first time that Deria had sought out her baba, her baba who was not her sire, but it did not matter because he was the father she needed when she needed one the most.

“You must promise me that you will listen without interrupting, then you shall be off to speak to your mama. She holds more answers than even I.” Deria could feel a familiar hand pat her head gently, and she gave a timid smile, her mama gave the best forehead kisses, but her baba had the best head pats – she was sure of it.

Deria nodded in agreeance, before sitting up tall in her baba’s lap, her face more serious than any eight years old’s should be.

Her baba sighed, before he began.

* * *

“That’s not fair! That’s not right!” Deria had jumped down from her baba’s lap, her eyes blurry with tears as she yelled out her words.

It **_wasn’t_** fair, it **_wasn’t_** right. _None of this makes sense, this can’t be true._

“These are lies! This can’t be…” Deria stormed out of her baba’s solar, running through the corridors as she sucked in her trembling bottom lip.

_Are they really lies? When has baba ever lied?_

_He hasn’t, not to me, not to mama. Not ever._

Deria kept running, passing maids and servants alike but she didn’t care. Her breathing was haggard, and she felt a bit dizzy as she made it to her rooms and slammed her door with all the might that her small body could muster.

Deria sat in front of a large cage, where Keza and Hyza were sitting on their branches. Her mind wouldn’t stop racing, as she thought about everything she just learned. There was so much information to process and she was frustrated at herself at not being able to.

Her inner turmoil was temporarily thwarted by the arrival of Lee, her favorite of all the Han cousins that were close to her age. He didn’t bother to knock, not when she and him often were in one another rooms and were familiar enough with one another.

“I heard from a maid that you were most distressed,” he commented as he walked in, his long braid swinging as he did so. Though he was born from a Han male, he followed his YiTish mother’s tradition of wearing his hair in long braids.

“Distressed?” Deria scoffed, though it sounded weak. That made her bite her bottom lip because she didn’t like feeling weak, didn’t like feeling like she wasn’t good enough.

Lee didn’t say anything, her ten-year-old friend just grabbed her hand before leading her over to where their previous game of go was. They often played off and on, but she found comfort at the idea of another game, something to take her mind off of what just happened.

“Speak your mind Deria, you are never one to hold back or shy away.” Lee commanded of her and she just huffed out a puff of air. _Thinks he can boss me around just cause he’s two years older._

Deria wished she could say nothing was wrong, but she knew her eyes were puffy and red, that her bottom lip hurt from biting on it.

“I spoke with my father. About how we arrived her and what happened before…” her voice trailed off as she moved her first piece in their new game.

“I was wondering when you would begin to ask these questions. It is good to know that the older you get; I can be assured you will not lose your wits.”

Deria scowled at him, before it softened as she scraped her tongue against the roof of her mouth in thought.

“I wanted the truth, it was more than what I expected,” she spoke sadly, her Rhoynish curls falling in front of her face in disappointment of herself.

At this, Lee laughed, sounding much older than his ten years, but then again, he was a scholar and liked to philosophy.

“Is that not life in and of itself? You would be a fool to think life would simply go one way, just because you want to. The good thing is you’re learning this early, let those foolish dreams and hopes be crushed while you’re young, it will save you later heartache.”

Deria can note the hint of bitterness there, in her best friend’s voice but she knows better than to comment on it, not now at least. Lee has his own issues regarding his elder brothers, Yuan and Sulmein who both died while fighting in Qarth. They had been much older than him, but he had loved them all the same and them dying had taken a lot out of him, at least that’s what he’s told her so far.

_I’m not the only one who lost someone._

“Mayhaps you are right,” she spoke quietly. The mood was somber but as she listened to her birds sing a song, she took a deep breath before she began to speak, confiding in Lee.

He had been the first one to reach out to her when she first came to Moraq, since then they have been by one another’s side and if she couldn’t trust her best friend with this, if she couldn’t voice her inner thoughts and turmoil to him, then who could she confide in?

Sarella is so far away in Dorne and Bayezid and Myriah are too young to be burdened, to be weighed down by truths that have caused her heart to ache. 

_It isn’t fair, it isn’t right._

_Neither is life._

* * *

Deria found her mama again hours later, alone in her rooms as Doryn was down for a nap and Bayezid and Myriah were off with nene and dede, their grandparents who no doubt were spoiling them just as they spoil her.

“Deria, what is wrong? I’ve heard you were running through the palace with tears. Hm? What upset you so?”

Deria took a breath of relief at this, relieved to know her baba did not tell her mama why she had left in a panic. She walked closer to her mother who was sitting down on the chaise, not far from where Doryn laid in their parents’ bed, with pillows around him, should her baby brother roll in his sleep.

Her mama’s face is so familiar, so like her own when she sees herself in a looking glass, or even her reflection in a body of water. She hugged her mama fiercely, tightening her hold around her as best as she could as she breathed in her mama’s scent – familiar also.

Lee had tried his best and she was thankful but what she wanted was to be tucked in her mama’s arms, just like how she was when she was younger and a babe like Doryn. To listen to her mama, sing in Rhoynar and rub soothing circles onto her back in comfort.

“Baba told me because I asked.” Her voice was muffled into her mama’s neck, her hands fisting into her mama’s curls so alike hers as she felt her mother’s hand rubbing into her back.

“What did you ask little sun? Surely it would not cause so much distress to make you cry.”

_Little sun, always little sun._

“I asked about the truth, of why we went to Dorne…of why we came to be here.”

With Deria’s head leaning against her mama’s chest, she could hear her mother’s heartbeat flutter at her statement before she also heard her mama sigh.

“I had thought you’d be a little older, maybe ten or older but I see now you are too curious for your own good.”

Deria leaned away from her mother’s chest, staring at her now, black orbs meeting their twin and she moved so that she could sit up straight.

“I can handle it,” Deria swears, not wanting to hide from this any longer.

Her mama gazes at her, inspecting her, measuring her with an arch eyebrow raised, but Deria won’t buck now. She had cried earlier yes, and she’ll make sure to apologize to her baba but… _I want to know…I need to know._

“Baba says it’s always best to act when I have all the information. This is my story too.”

Deria had not always been fierce, she had stumbled a time or to, but she needs the truth. Wants to know about herself from before, from what she cannot remember. Wants to know why her letters to her once uncle, now just cousin, Viserys are so few and far in between. Wants to know why her mama left their once home, Deria just wants to **_know_**.

“Please, tell me mama.”

Some questions are better left unsaid, unanswered, but Deria doesn’t know that until she’s older.

* * *

The truth is a bitter thing to swallow, it’s even harder to digest.

At eight years old Deria doesn’t consider herself a fool, but there’s something within her that’s jaded, slightly cracked when it’s inspected under the harsh light of the sun.

Deria wonders what people see when they look at her, do they see the daughter of a Crown Prince that was discarded? She wonders how they look at her mother, if their love for them is genuine or if it is fake.

It takes a few moons for Deria to come out of the shell she put herself in, like an armor that protected her as she waded through her tumultuous thoughts.

She felt anger, sadness and above all else disappointment.

_My sire wrote me a song when I was born. But I wasn’t good enough to get another one, my mama wasn’t good enough either._

_Why?_

It’s the question that will always haunt her, she thinks.

Why?

* * *

“I want to learn how to fight. Not just with poisons but spears and swords too.” Deria stands in front of both her parents at the age of two and ten, her hair braided back and her face in the perfect mask, but her eyes are burning, blazing like the sun even.

There is a newfound resolve in her, the one that makes her wake up early even when she is tired as she sits in front of her board of go; even as she stays up in the night with waning candles reading over tomes, of numbers and philosophy.

There is a hunger inside of her that seems unquenchable, as though she is on the cusp of something that she cannot name.

Her parents do not deny her, though they have hardly denied her anything.

It is her baba that speaks to her later on before she retires to bed and he gives her a question that she’ll think about for years to come.

“Who do you wish to be, little sun?”

The answer doesn’t come until she’s six and ten.

* * *

Four years ago, she had committed herself to learning, not just how to fight with swords and spears but also how to fight with words and her wit.

She is a princess by birth and a lady in her own right. But there’s something missing and as she stands in the corner of the training yard, she watches Lee, his braid flying as he swings his sword with Davos –Aunt Ashara’s son, named after the first Sword of the Morning – does she realize what it is.

There has been talk of marriages for some of the older Han cousins, some wanting to get married and settle into their own keeps and provinces as they continue to help the empire prosper and Deria has heard Lee’s name on more than one occasion pop up.

He grew taller, just as she did though she is little taller than her mama. Bayezid and Myriah are a good mix between her parents, with luscious curls, though Bayezid keeps his cropped just above his shoulders like baba and dede. Myriah wears her long just like mama and herself, while Doryn doesn’t mind letting his curls grow long, keeping them tied back like Uncle Oberyn.

Deria knows what others think about them, she has heard couturiers compliment her family, of mama’s work with building a Moraqi version of the Water Garden that was finally completed after three years when she turned seven and was one of the first to play in it, though mama called it the ‘Sun Gardens’ instead. Bayezid and Myriah follow Deria around, loyal as always and she always remembers Obara’s words about being the eldest sibling, “sometimes they’ll do stupid things, so you have to be there in order to A. stop them, or B. make sure they don’t get hurt or caught.”

Deria had told her parents about that and they both agreed with their niece, ‘sage advice’ her baba had called it.

Deria is little sun, while Bayezid and Myriah are little moon and star, but Doryn is a viper, through in through. Always mischievous, his dimples so much like Uncle Oberyn’s do nothing to fool their parents, grandparents or even her when he gets up to something.

Mama had groaned and said it was her own mama’s wrath, for Princess Loreza finally got her revenge on her daughter, by giving her a son who caused all kinds of mischief. Uncle Doran seemed quite pleased with Doryn, though he himself had another nephew to deal with, Maron, named after her grandpapa. Maron was the only son of Uncle Oberyn and Aunt Jade and he was always doing something, Deria has read plenty letters from Uncle Doran complaining to mama to know that.

“Are you going to keep watching or are you going to pick up a sword and join?” Her thoughts her sidetracked by Lee calling out to her.

His skin is glistening in the evening sun, some of his Han curls sticking to his head and his tunic is disheveled.

Deria had returned from her province, Mersin was not far from the capital, she only had to ride an hour to get here. Deria had left at four and ten to see her castle and begin decorating it to her taste, her nene and mama already taught her about how Moraq worked. How the Sultan, her baba ruled over all and ladies, lords and pashas ruled provinces which had districts within them, making ruling easier on everyone.

She felt older, wiser even though she was still young, but she has learned a lot. Some lessons learned hard while others were learned easy.

“And here I thought you’d never ask,” she drawled lazily, thankful that she had changed into some fresh breeches and a light tunic after her travels.

Deria walks further into the light from her place in the shadows, smiling at Davos who greeted her eagerly with a ‘cousin’.

“You know, I have no wish to cut you Lee, a pretty face like yours shouldn’t be scarred.” It was a taunt and but there was some truth in her words, Lee _does_ have a pretty face. His curls are just a few shades darker than teak, but his jawline is perfect, and his skin reminds her of honeyed white wine, golden in the sun.

She shook her head, Lee was her best friend, her closest confidant, there was no time to think about him in that manner.

“Such foul words coming from such beautiful lips, such a shame,” he tsked at her and her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Deria lifted her training sword, a little thinner for a warrior princess than the usual stocky swords that men used. From Uncle Zaganos, to Uncle Oberyn to her own baba, she learned how to fight. She had spent a year in Sunspear, ‘squiring’ under her uncle before he sent her back her to mama and baba to continue her training.

Her uncle said that she had to be quick, and unpredictable, to create her own fighting style so that no one can predict her movements, so that she may catch her enemies unaware. Aunt Jade had taught her how to be nimble, to let her features thwart off men, because they wouldn’t see her coming.

Her blade swung and when Lee’s sword met hers, did she finally smile in delight. Her and Lee had often been sparing partners giving one another bruises that left her mama tutting at them with soothing rubs and ointments.

Deria had been gone for awhile in her province, but she realized what she had been missing as the sounds of their blades echoed in the yard.

* * *

_The worst thing he can say is no._

_Come on, be a big girl, you are a big girl._

_You’re the sun, you bow to no man._

_Burn bright and blaze._

Deria found Lee a few days later after she spent time with her family, Bayezid and Doryn bugging her with questions as Myriah had combed her curls, taming the wildness of them.

It had only been earlier when she heard rumors of Bu Gai’s daughter seeking a betrothal, while she liked Bu Gai, she never cared for his daughter. Princess Wei was obnoxious and bratty and wore too much gold, more gold than even a Lannister and that was saying something!

_Lee doesn’t need to be married to someone so…vain._

Lee was sitting by himself in the private courtyard they had often sat in when they were younger, playing on his guzheng. It was a quiet melody that suited perfectly with the evening sun, the skies a perfect mixture of red, pink, orange and yellow.

“I heard Princess Wei is looking for a groom,” Deria threw her comment out there, hoping like a fisherman that Lee would bite it.

“I’ve heard too,” Lee responded.

Deria walked closer and she could feel how much tension was in her frame even though she tried to play it off.

“Are you going to marry her?” Her voice sounded small, just like it did when she was younger, and she tried not to wince at her own cowardice.

“Would you not like me to?” Lee stopped playing and all his attention was on her, which only served to make her more nervous before she jutted out her chin.

“No, then you’ll be complaining to me about how annoying she is. I’d rather save you the heartache and myself the pain of having to get rid of her for you,” her words more accurate than she would like.

But she spoke true, she would kill for Lee if he asked her too, just like she would kill for her brothers and sister, for her mama too. Deria loves fiercely and selfishly, willing to shoulder the pain if it means keeping her family safe.

Mama said she is much like baba in that regard, but Deria had only smiled when she heard that.

“Is that all?” Lee doesn’t seem pleased with her answer.

Deria opens her mouth, but then closes it quickly before she turns away as if to walk off before she stops herself.

_You’re not a coward. Never turn your back on an enemy or a friend._

“You wouldn’t be happy with her; your personalities would clash. She only wants to marry you because of your promotion under Uncle Zaganos. She wouldn’t love you the way you want or deserved to be loved. Don’t have to be blind to see that,” Deria mumbled that last sentence under her breath.

At this moment she wished Sarella or even Obara was here. Sarella would give her witty words of encouragement while Obara would simply push her towards Lee and tell her to get on with it.

Gods, she misses her cousins and can’t wait to see them soon. Uncle Jaime is hosting a tourney for his daughter, Johanne and Viserys’ wedding. Johanne Lannister had just turned six and ten, from what Viserys had written her just a few moons ago, he seemed eager to marry his Lannister bride.

Everyone around her was getting married or taking paramours such as Nymeria who found the bastard son of Lord Blackmont to be quite entertaining.

Mayhaps that was what she was missing, someone by her side who understood her. Deria has grown up watching her mama and baba and their love that bloomed when she was too young to understand it then, but she sees it now. The way baba’s eyes warm when they fall on mama, or when mama has his head in her lap, massaging his scalp as she hums to herself.

Even nene and dede, they’re old but their love is sweet, tried, and true. Dede had chosen nene as a friend and then as a wife when he’d been but a boy ruling his province.

Uncle Doran and Aunt Mellario’s love was different, quiet but unwavering as at one point her uncle even helped her aunt shave her head, though Arianne boldly explained that if a man didn’t help her shave then she wouldn’t love him (Arianne would never shave her curls, but she told everyone who would listen it was the principle of the matter). It had been met with laughs but Deria understood what she meant, how gentle her uncle’s hands must be in order to shave her aunt’s head and leave no blood or scabs behind.

Uncle Oberyn and Aunt Jade’s love was fiery and passion, amorous and feverish in their touches even as they got older. Their love had been like a flame that did not flicker or extinguish when the winds blew during their marriage.

Uncle Zaganos and Aunt Ashara’s love had grown over time, with Uncle Zaganos building a small altar for Aunt Ashara and the daughter she miscarried during the war. It had been that kindness that had won him her aunt’s heart and Deria knew her mama had been very happy at the fact.

Deria has seen so many examples of love but as she stands in front of Lee while he’s sitting down, staring up at her she feels twisted inside.

He’s her friend, **_of course_** she loves him, how couldn’t she? He had been the first friend she made in Moraq, had offered her an open ear and open arms when she found herself drowning after learning about her sire.

Sometimes when he said things, like about her hair or clothes she felt her face flush. Or when he would talk, she would stare at his lips, and how full they looked. She saw him training since she was young, saw him always offer a hand to his sparring partner and helped them up because that was just the way he was, kind and true. He has helped her up plenty of times and not just in a spar.

He was her best friend, he was Lee.

Deria sat down next to him, turning to him slightly as she steeled herself.

“You’re my best friend, we grew up together. You…mean a lot to me, I wouldn’t trade you for any other.”

Deria surged forward and kissed him on the lips, before backing away in shock, obviously surprised by her own decision.

Lee didn’t seem perturbed by her actions, instead he grabbed one of her hands and kissed it, his lips tickling her skin, but her lips felt ticklish too.

“I have loved you since I was two and ten, when you were only ten yourself. You gave me a sketch that you drew, it was of you and I sitting in this very courtyard, for a nameday gift. I’ve kept it ever since.”

Deria could remember because her mother like to sketch too, often sending sketches back to Dorne or even to Uncle Jaime.

“I remember,” she stated numbly, it felt like her whole body was numb except for her lips and the hand that sat in Lee’s larger one.

“Will you kiss me again?”

Deria blinked owlishly, her eyelashes fluttering rapidly before Lee rolled his eyes and pulled her forward, his lips meeting hers.

One moment her body had been numb, the next it felt like she had been consumed by a fire, blazing even more when she lifted her hands and grabbed onto the fabric of Lee’s kaftan, pulling him closer.

She found she did not mind being burned.

* * *

Their betrothal is announced though no one seemed surprised, not even Doryn. Apparently there had been bets in place on when her and Lee would finally admit to their feelings.

Her mother had won, saying it would happen before Deria’s next nameday. If Deria thought herself hurt, it was quickly smoothed over when her mother used the gold won to have a whole new wardrobe commissioned for her and Lee. They would have matching gowns just like mama and baba, and nene and dede wore.

Deria felt better, with Lee by her side and when the news had been sent to Yi Ti, well Deria had laughed (it was a cackle, Lee swears that it sounded too much like Aunt Jade’s) when Princess Wei sent her ‘well wishes’. Deria had simply thrown the letter in the fire, not caring for her false words.

Deria was happy.

* * *

She does not often think about her sire, because in her baba’s own words ‘he’s a non-factor’, he doesn’t matter.

When she had been young, she had been hurt, extremely so and it had taken her a year to come back to herself, fully. Her sire, Rhaegar thought her and her mother not good enough, but Deria has learned from Tyene that he has sired no other children but the son that replaced the Aegon her mama miscarried.

Deria thinks it was the sands of Dorne that cursed them both when they went to Dorne, when they should not have. It was Mother Rhoyne, she believed, acting in vengeance. Her sire had trespassed against her mama, discarding her for no real reason.

 _Prophecy_ , her mind supplied, and she felt her lips thin as she laid on her bed.

Deria is many things but not a fool, she didn’t want to be some link in a chain of madness based on a prophecy.

Her baba once asked her who she wanted to be and as she lays down, touching the necklace that Lee gave her for their betrothal she knows who she wants to be.

A good daughter, a good sister. A good friend, a good cousin, a good wife. A good princess, a good lady, a good ruler.

She wants to be righteous in her convictions, of being able to make hard decisions and standing by them just like her mama and baba.

She wants to be like Uncle Oberyn, fierce in his loyalty to his family.

She wants to be like Uncle Jaime, the best knight that she knows, because he is just and brave. He’d been ready to defy his king because he remembered his vows as a knight before his vows as a Kingsguard.

She wants to be like her Uncle Doran, who sacrificed ten thousand sons of Dorne for her mama and herself.

She wants to make all of those fallen proud, so that they did not lay down their lives in vain.

Her life as Rhaenys Targaryen had been short, severed like a silk sheet before it could really begin and as she grew, she accepted that.

Her life as Deria Nymeros Martell however, if the gods are good, she shall see to it that they know her name long after she is gone.

Posted: 08/27/2020

Edited: 08/27/2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, epilogues, very bittersweet indeed as I say goodbye to this fic, excuse me while I go cry in my closet.
> 
> For these epilogues, I was listening to 'Hurry Up, We're Dreaming' by M83, and I just could feel it, the goodness of finishing up a tale that I worked hard on. 
> 
> Nothing gets me going like a good song and even album to push me forward.


	32. Epilogue II: Prince Viserys Targaryen, The Hidden King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prince born at birth, a lord in his own right, a hidden king in the shadows. Above all else he is a son and brother, dutiful in his will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'm the king of my own land.  
> Facing tempests of dust, I'll fight until the end.  
> Creatures of my dreams, raise up and dance with me.  
> Now and forever,  
> I'm your king."  
> -Outro by M83

As a boy, Viserys learned that there were many secrets that surrounded him, secrets that were supposed to remain hidden, secrets of Dragonstone, secrets of the Red Keep, secrets of his family, of his house, of his father, of his brother.

Only as he grew older did he understand that he was shrouded in more secrets then he could withstand, could understand. He was just a boy when the walls that kept those secrets from him began to crack.

It would start with a whisper there and a whisper here, but the crack remained small.

It wouldn’t be until his cousin’s rebellion did the wall begin to further be breeched. The fissure that the crack had once been had slowly morphed, shattering the very foundation that his life was built upon.

* * *

Rhaegar had disappeared and no one knew where he went.

His father did not know.

His mother did not know.

Rhaenys did not know.

Even Elia, did not know.

Then word spread that Lyanna Stark disappeared also.

Once again, no one knew where she was, where _they_ were.

But if there was one word that _was_ whispered that he heard, it was Harrenhal.

Viserys didn’t understand because he wasn’t there; his father had kept him and mother at the Red Keep.

He wouldn’t understand how the actions that took place at the Tourney of Harrenhal would come back to haunt his family and himself years later.

* * *

While the realm descended into war and chaos, his brother and Lyanna Stark remained hidden.

The secrets that were kept from him, remained hidden also.

* * *

When the war happened, Viserys was only eight years old and he had begged his father to send his niece and sister with his mother and him. He wanted their company, he wanted to play with Rhaenys and chase Balerion with her; he wanted Elia to come because she made his mother smile and gave him kisses on the forehead.

But his father denied him.

Rhaenys had given him Balerion, to keep him company and he was thankful for it when he bid her and Elia goodbye before he left with mother for Dragonstone.

His mother was pregnant and Viserys was very excited to become a big brother, his mother told him that big brothers were supposed to be gentle, tried, and true – that they defended their sisters and did not hurt them.

His mother said she dreamed of a daughter, a daughter named Daenerys and so Viserys made a promise that he would protect his baby sister, like how Aemon the Dragonknight protected Queen Naerys.

All Viserys wanted to do was make his mother happy, she often had strange marks upon her when they were in the Red Keep. She looked sad and her eyes were always sad too, so he promised to make her smile more.

His mother, whose smiles always seemed so secretive had been very beautiful when he said that, and she kissed him on both cheeks, calling him a ‘good prince’ before she laid down to rest.

It would be that conversation with his mother that would stick with him as he grew older, it would be the promise he made to his mother and Daenerys that would make him into the man he would become.

* * *

There was a lot of changes that happened after the rebellion, changes that Viserys didn’t understand, couldn’t comprehend because he thought everything would be ‘okay’ now that his brother was back.

But it wasn’t.

Things would never be the same.

Father was dead.

Rhaegar was king.

Elia was no longer to be his sister and queen, her soft kisses gone from him.

Rhaenys, now Deria, he would not see again until years later when he married, though letters would be exchanged in secret.

Lyanna Stark was now his brother’s wife and the queen.

Ser Lewyn was dead, and he felt sad because he had liked Elia’s silly uncle.

Viserys didn’t understand all these changes and he grew frustrated when he learned of them, he grew mad when he did not get to say goodbye to Elia or Deria – his mother felt the same way.

That was a grudge both him and his mother would carry until the end of their days because you don’t just leave family behind, you don’t just have them disappear without saying goodbye to them.

It had hurt to have that taken away from him, but he kept Balerion close afterwards, kept close to his mother and Dany as well. 

A lot of things had changed, but he had his mother and Daenerys now and they kept him grounded, kept him present as he grew in the years to come.

* * *

It was after the rebellion that his mother sat him down one day and explained things to him, ‘the new world order’ as she so liked to call it.

“I fear that many things have been kept secret from you, my little dragon but alas the time has come to admit to these secrets. If you do not know now, I fear what should happen as you grow older,” his mother spoke.

It wasn’t the first time that he heard his mother sound so weary, but he thought she was doing better now – apparently, he had been wrong.

Viserys visibly gulped, before he remembered his manners and straightened up in his seat, wanting to showcase that he could be mature, that he could be a big boy.

“By the time the truth was told to me, it was already too late. Not even aunt Rhaelle or Princess Loreza could do much of anything, though they both tried,” his mother sighed out, her eyes looking so faraway even though she was in front of him.

Viserys sat in silence, not knowing what to say as he listened and he felt as though a hole had opened underneath his feet, that the Stranger had pulled at his legs and dragged him down to one of the Seven Hells.

He didn’t want it to be true, it couldn’t be because so much had happened, so many bad things and it couldn’t all be for this? For a _prophecy_?

His head hurt and so did his heart and he cried. He cried in his mother’s arms because he didn’t understand or want to understand what was just explained to him.

It didn’t make sense.

As he cried, he hugged his mother closer, burying his face in her neck because she always comforted him when he was scared.

But even this once sweet action turned bitter on his tongue, because he had his mother to comfort him but who comforted his mother when she had been scared?

His embrace grows tighter at the fearful thought.

A lot of things have changed but the promise he made to his mother and sister remains, he’ll protect them, he swore it to the Warrior.

* * *

When Viserys saw his brother again, his illusions of his big brother had been shattered by the truth he learned from their mother.

He had looked very hard at Rhaegar, analyzing him with all the might that an eight-year-old could, making sure that whatever made Rhaegar the way he was, it wouldn’t make Viserys the man he would become.

He didn’t want to be like his brother, not anymore. Once he thought him gallant and had been proud of their name, but he often finds himself conflicted with the legacy of his house.

His sister and niece are now nothing more than distant cousins, sharing a drop of the dragons’ blood.

The Baratheons felt even more distant, because his brother had killed Robert Baratheon who had only done the right thing, when he thought his betrothed had been kidnapped and raped.

The realm bled, is _still_ bleeding and he wonders how Rhaegar will clean up the mess that him and father helped make together.

As he sits at a family dinner, he takes discreet glances at Lyanna Stark, his new queen.

He stabs his fork a little viciously into his chicken breast, the picture before him is wrong because it should be Elia where Lyanna sits, should be Deria sitting next to him as he helps feed her while Elia eats.

This is all wrong, this picture seems nothing more than a farce because he doesn’t understand it.

His brother thought himself some herald of prophecy where the original heads of the three dragons were reborn, but if that was the case why did he name Deria, Rhaenys when Visenya had been the eldest?

Viserys may be young, but he isn’t stupid.

He saw the new Aegon and he looks nothing like Rhaegar or himself, he doesn’t look like a Targaryen and Viserys wondered why his brother choose Lyanna if he wanted the three heads of dragons to be reborn.

Shouldn’t the children of his prophecy look like him? Look like the Conqueror and his sister-wives?

Viserys now knows that his father hated Elia and Deria, because they were Dornish but that didn’t make sense because Queen Myriah and Princess Dyanna were his father’s own great-grandmother and grandmother, respectively.

It seemed silly to hate someone for what you also were too.

Viserys wonders if Rhaegar hated Elia and Deria too because they were Dornish. Why else would he name his first born after Rhaenys, the queen who was shot down from the sky and held in Hellholt, or mayhaps even after Rhaenys – The Queen Who Never Was – either name was tempting fate, in Viserys opinion.

But no one outside of his mother asked for his opinion so he kept silent instead.

Viserys knows no one is very happy about Rhaegar’s actions, they’re not happy about the Kingsguard either.

Viserys is of like mind, he isn’t happy with his elder brother and even now as he sits at the dining table, he warily watches the knights.

_They were sworn to the king, but they were not here when the king died. Instead they were guarding some tower in Dorne. They swore vows of the knighthood, but they did not defend women, my mother is proof of that. I don’t trust them, and I don’t trust Rhaegar. I can only trust mother and Dany._

Most days Viserys often wonders what life would have been like had his deceased elder siblings survived, would they had protected mother from father?

Would they have put a stop to his father’s madness, or would they run off too like Rhaegar, like his mother’s own uncles?

These questions are better left unasked and unsaid, even in his thoughts.

* * *

The happiness that Viserys felt at seeing Elia again had been hard to describe because she still looked the same, but she looked _lighter_ in the same way mother did. They did not look so haunted and he feels a flash of guilt because he knows where that haunted look originates from.

On Dragonstone he takes special care to knock before he enters his mother’s room, to take his time walking towards her so she does not feel threatened, for all that he is his mother’s son and though he possesses pale lilac eyes, he never wants to be mistaken for his father.

He has learned that he must be ever so gentle with his mother, though she is a dragon, even dragons can be startled and wounded.

They are both scarred by the actions of his father and brother and Viserys has learned not to poke at the healing wounds of his mother. There will always be scars that litter his mother skin and whenever he sees them, it strengthens his resolve whenever he find himself tired in the library.

There is so much to learn, so much knowledge that needs to be stored within his brain so that it is readily available for his use when he needs it most – because he has to know better in order to do better.

Mother always said he should never lose his wits and he took that to heart. He doesn’t want to be a fool, not like Rhaegar, not like his father.

When he had been led to the room where his mother and Elia was, he had been nervous, but when the door opened and he saw her with his own eyes, he ran towards her like did when he was younger.

She had opened her arms and welcomed him, and he felt tears streaming down his face.

He doesn’t wish to cry, he doesn’t but out of the mess and ruins that his life has become, Elia stills shines brightly like her house’s sigil.

His mother and Dany have been good anchors, but as he sits on Elia’s lap, he knows their time together is coming to an end.

It isn’t fair and he wishes the gods had been kinder in this regard.

Many promises are made on the day that Elia leaves his life once more.

“You shall marry someday; I want a promise that you will treat your intended and wife with respect; that you will listen to her words and advice and take them into council. That you will not neglect her nor the children you share.” Elia words are hard-hitting, like a solid punch and Viserys feels winded before he replies hardly, though his lips are trembling, “I promise.”

He doesn’t want to disappoint his wife should he have one, he doesn’t want to treat anyone like how his father and brother treated their wives.

“As a prince you have a duty to this realm, to uphold the laws of gods and men. You must do your utmost to adhere to them. I have no doubt that you shall become a knight, even finer than Aemon the Dragonknight, son of your namesake, Viserys the II. You must strive to be dutiful like Viserys the II, you must be astute in your duties as prince.” His pale-lilac eyes stare into onyx orbs and he nods his head, his eyes feeling blurry.

_I have to be better than those who came before me, for mother and Dany._

“This world is cruel, but do not forsake yourself and fall to the wayside. Even when this world knocks you down, even when people whisper behind your back – you must stand tall and rise. You are a dragon, you must learn how to balance the fire and blood within you, do not let it consume you like it has consumed the others. Please?”

_Consumed like my father and brother, I know. I don’t wish to be like them. Never._

His tears do fall, and he sniffles before Elia pulls him into a hug, she is warm, always so warm and it feels like the sun is being taken away from him. First Deria and now Elia, he wonders when he’ll see them again.

“I promise, I’ll learn everything I can and be a good prince. I’ll protect mother and Dany and Balerion. I’ll protect everyone, I swear.” His voice sounds distressed and hysterical but wants to be a good prince, he doesn’t want his mother to hurt anymore, doesn’t want to hear her cry in the night when she is alone. He wants to be a good big brother to Dany, like he promised to mother.

This is not just another promise he made to his family but also to himself, he won’t be a prince or knight that shall go back on his word.

He spoke his promises and swore it to the gods of his Valyrian ancestors and to the old and new ones. The gods will surely hold him to it, but Viserys makes a silent promise to himself, to hold himself accountable for his own actions.

He won’t be like those who came before him.

He won’t.

* * *

Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen had been born while a storm raged outside the fortress that was Dragonstone, but just like her birth, his sister was determined and fierce.

“Come on Dany, you can do it,” Viserys stood just a few feet from his sister with his arms out, on bended knees, as she looked determinedly at him, before lifting one foot in front of the other.

Her balance was unsure, but he could see that she was resolved as she kept going, their mother clapping in the background as they both watched Dany takes her first steps without help.

His sister’s smile was gummy as she kept going, her hands outstretched as she finally made it into his arms, obviously pleased with herself as was their mother.

“Good job Dany, I got you,” Viserys whispered to her, not bothering to fight off the smile on his own lips.

_I won’t let you fall sweet sister, never. I promise._

* * *

The years were harsh on him, but he weathered the storm like any good sailor would do. The Greyjoy Rebellion happened, but it came as a surprise when the Greyjoys sailed to Lannisport and burnt half the Lannister fleet.

The answer to that assault had not just been answered by Lord Tywin, but also Ser Jaime, who further solidified his title as “Jaime the Just” when he killed Victorian Greyjoy in battle, before throwing his body in the sea – though he had kept the head for himself to send back to Pyke as a warning of what was to come.

Retribution had been quick on House Greyjoy, for all the words that are whispered about Ser Jaime turning in his white cloak, none can deny his battle prowess now. Lord Tywin, Lord Lucerys and even his own mother counseled Rhaegar that retaliation had to be swift and definitive, considering his brother’s reign started off bad enough with his annulment and new marriage.

There had been another song added to House Lannister, of “The Kraken in the Lion’s Den”. Balon Greyjoy’s children were wards to Lord Eddard Stark and Lord Lucerys, with Asha Greyjoy being sent to Driftmark while her brother was held in the North, the threat of execution not far should Balon step one toe out of line.

There had been some grumbling at allowing Theon Greyjoy to be warded with the Starks when it had been the Greyjoys who burnt half the Lannister fleet, but House Lannister already had himself and Renly Baratheon, so Lord Tywin let the matter go.

Viserys squired under Ser Jaime, for he had become one of the deadliest knights in the Six Kingdoms. When he speaks to Ser Jaime in the evenings, he finds it nice that the man actually _listens_ to him and not simply humoring him as he realized Rhaegar had done when he was younger, _because he’d been too obsessed with prophecies_ , his mind supplied darkly.

He still has his mother and Dany, who he loves fiercely, but now he has Tyrion and Renly too. Viserys has heard some servants whispering that it is like “King Aerys, Lord Tywin and Lord Steffon once again,” whenever him and his friends were walking together throughout the castle.

As he grew older, he understood why his mother remained distant from King’s Landing and from his brother and good sister as a whole.

The pact that was made between his mother, Lord Tywin, Ser Jaime, and Lord Lucerys had been revealed to him when he first came to Casterly Rock.

_The consequences of Rhaegar’s actions were always going to be far-reaching, I doubt anyone knew just how much._

Well not anyone, because the triad alliance between House Lannister, House Velaryon and House Targaryen of Dragonstone had seen the fallout from Rhaegar’s decision years in advance.

Viserys never wanted to be king, he has seen the Iron Throne and it looks as monstrous as the name sounds. So many kings have sat on the throne and he often wondered how many had been truly worthy to do so.

_Will I be worthy when the time comes?_

Viserys won’t know the answer to that question until he sits upon it at the age of two and three, after a Great Council is called.

* * *

No matter how hard Rhaegar may try, their family is split. His mother has not warmed to Lyanna through the years and though she kind to Aegon, he notices how wary she can be around both of them.

His mother kept him and Dany away from the capital, either at Driftmark or Dragonstone before he began to squire for Ser Jaime. He doesn’t blame his mother, because Viserys know his family’s history well.

 _Blackfyre,_ some whisper when they see Aegon and Viserys pities the boy because he had no hand in how he came to be. But the fact remains there all the same, something Rhaegar and Lyanna know or mayhaps that are both just willing to turn a blind eye to it, lest they have to confront the choices they made in their pursuit of ‘love’.

Viserys for his own reasons does not trust Lyanna. She stepped over the bodies of her brother and father to get a crown on her head, he is wary of her also.

As far as Viserys is concerned the line had been drawn the moment Rhaegar returned after the war, which showed who was aligned with who.

Members of House Targaryen have always had complicated relationships with another, and this is nothing different, sadly.

* * *

Viserys had been sitting with his mother, in the Tower of the Hand when they both heard rapid footsteps approaching quickly just outside the door.

When his mother did come to King’s Landing, she stayed in the Tower of the Hand and if anyone was wise, they did not question her on that decision. Viserys knows his mother vehemently detests Maegor’s Holdfast, that she hates the royal apartments and so Lord Tywin had been kind enough to offer her rooms in the Tower of the Hand.

Lord Tywin is not usually a kind man, but each time his mother stays, he is always sure to thank the grandfather of his betrothed. It’s a simple kindness that allows his mother to rest easy when she must come to the capital and he doesn’t forget it.

The servants of the Tower were instructed to always announce themselves, to allow his mother time to compose herself, lest she finds herself in her memories of when his sire would barge into her rooms.

Unfortunately, not everyone is kind in this regard, his brother chief amongst them.

The door swung open and Viserys is already on his feet, surprise crossing his face before he masks it.

“Mother, I have just come from Grand Maester Pycelle, it appears the hope we had was false, for Lyanna’s womb remains empty,” Rhaegar speaks deadpanned.

_And what do you want mother to do about it? How does this concern her?_

Viserys needs to only turn his head marginally to see how much tension is in their mother’s frame and his mouth turns downward at the sign of her latent distress.

“Rhaegar, I do not know what you wish me to say. The girl gave birth in a lone tower with no maester or healer in sight,” his mother sounds tired, so different from the happiness that had been on her face as he told her about Castamere just moments before.

_Mother gave birth to you while Summerhall burned, Elia gave birth to Deria as she endured insults at court. Are we supposed to feel sorry that the queen cannot give you another head of the dragon because of her decision to remain in a tower where she was never supposed to be?_

Viserys stands in front of his mother, though he just a young squire and nearing the age to knighthood, he looks at his brother and then Ser Arthur, his eyes blazing at the two of them.

_Have you not disturb mother enough? Her life was ruined by Jenny of Oldstones and whispers of prophecy and here you are feeding more into it. How many lives does that blasted prophecy have to ruin?_

“Perhaps brother you should see to your wife, I am sure she is most distressed by this news. Mother please, let us tour the gardens of the Tower of the Hand, I know Lord Tywin has had some of Lady Joanna’s roses planted just a few moons ago, they should be budding.”

Viserys turns his back on his brother and the former Sword of the Morning, his face gentle as he offers his mother a hand, his touch even more tenderly as he places her hand on his arm.

His mother protected him for so long, it is the least he can do in return.

“Some fresh air will do us both good, I must tell you of Tyrion’s plans for Tarbeck Hall, a genius my friend is.”

He guides his mother out of the room, knowing that he has turned his back on his brother and king, but he won’t let his brother bring their mother more distress and worry. His brother has already made it known privately of what he thinks about their mother spending time with Lord Lucerys though they won’t remarry to one another.

 _Mother is not looking for a marriage bed but only companionship and so is Lord Lucerys. The gods are not often kind, why deny them friendship? You did not deny yourself to an almost married woman, brother,_ Viserys had thought when the information had been made known to him.

When they reach the gardens, he sees the way his mother visibly relaxes and she looks at him with an angelic smile, “thank you, my son.”

“It is nothing mother, please.” The son lifts his mother’s hand and presses a kiss to it, worry in his eyes as he helps seat his mother before calling for some tea to be brought.

Viserys cannot do much in his protection for his mother now, though young he is, but he tries all the same.

* * *

Viserys sits down near on the cliff of Casterly Rock, listening to the waves from the Sunset Sea crash against it.

His silver curls are tied back by a red tie and he pulls it out of his hair, allowing his locks to blow freely in the wind as he continues to stare off into the horizon.

“I never have to wonder hard where you are, most often than not you are either here or with my uncle and Ser Renly,” a gentle voice called out to him.

His lips turn upward as he turns his head, meeting the gaze of his betrothed. Viserys lifts his right arm, his hand upward as he pulls Rohanne down to sit with him, pulling her close into his side to keep her from a chill though she is wearing a light cloak anyway.

“I find the Sunset Sea to be the most beautiful when the sunset is upon it, don’t you agree?”

His favorite time of the day was in the evening, as he stared out at the sunset, admiring the different colors in the skies.

“It is indeed beautiful my prince, I trust you received good news from your cousins?”

Viserys never forgot the promises he made, and he took Elia’s words to heart when she told him to take his betrothed into his council. Rohanne knows his thoughts, knows how he feels about the hidden aspirations to make him king and she, queen consort.

Though they are separated by five years, it brought Viserys great comfort to know his wife as good as he does, for not many men can say that. He doubts his sire ever knew his mother at all, never knew her inner wants and desires but Viserys knows Rohanne’s.

“Yes, for the wedding that your father is hosting, Elia and Deria shall arrive. I shall also get to meet Elia’s children, Bayezid, Myriah and Doryn.”

He chuckles softly to himself and Rohanne joins him too, because she knows what happened when his brother learned of Elia having more children. His brother had brought Grand Maester Pycelle in front of the Iron Throne, demanding to know how it was possible when he had been told that Elia would die from another birth. The fact that she had twins and then another son just two years after was a sore subject, even now when Lyanna has only had one child, Aegon.

But Pycelle spoke saying another birth ‘might’ kill her and he does not know what kind of sorcery the Moraqis’ use.

Mother had taken Rhaegar to task in private, telling him if he was so concerned then he should have paid more attention to Elia’s lineage. To pay attention to not just her maternal side of the family but also paternal, when Elia’s Gargalen grandfather and great uncle were twins, of an Orphan tribal princess.

 _It must have also to help to not have her children be born for prophecy._ Viserys can’t keep the sneer off his face when he thinks about it, still bitter over Rhaegar’s actions.

Because of his brother, the letters he gets from Elia and Deria are so few and far in between because they must remain secret, but Elia had been kind and true with remembering his nameday and giving him gifts in accordance, along with his mother and Dany. She had also sent a white lion’s skin that had been fashioned into a cloak for Lady Cersei, which she had worn when her and Lord Addam went to King’s Landing just earlier when winter had begun.

She sent gifts for Tyrion also, mainly tomes that held knowledge of explorers and inventors, such as Lu Bin who helped build the golden streets of Yi Ti.

“Well that’s good, is it not? I hope the king will be well behaved. I have heard from my Aunt Cersei that his marriage to the queen is as cold as the Wall,” Rohanne whispered to him, her strawberry blonde hair fluttering in the wind.

“It is the gods’ wrath for their impetuous actions. I care not for them,” and he doesn’t.

Viserys has learned how to live in the shadows of his sire’s and brother’s actions and make plans on how to rectify them.

When he was six and ten Castamere had finally been finished and Viserys had moved his mother there, not wanting her on Dragonstone as it was so dark and gloomy. He had the mind that his mother deserved the sun, as much as she could get considering his sire once kept her locked away in Maegor’s Holdfast. The castellan held Dragonstone while his mother and Dany lived in Castamere and Viserys split his time from Casterly Rock and his own castle, seeing Rohanne and his mother and sister.

He often pondered the actions that had taken place during the war and while he had already apologized to Renly for his sire’s and brother’s action, he had written a letter to Lord Stannis, a written apology on behalf of House Targaryen of Castamere.

As he grew older, the hidden king concluded that Robert Baratheon was only doing what any man should do if word reached him that his betrothed had been kidnapped. Viserys pitied Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully who were no doubt freezing off in the North, though his great uncle Aemon once wrote that the former rebels were doing fine.

Jon Arryn had raised his banners because his foster sons’ lives had been threatened not to mention Rickard and Brandon Stark had been killed.

_How can I disagree with them when Lord Tywin, Lord Lucerys, Jaime and my own mother shall raise their banners in support of me?_

_I would be a hypocrite of the worst caliber._

“Come back,” Viserys is startled out of his thoughts by gentle hands that are just as gentle as their lady’s voice.

“I’m sorry, sometimes my thoughts cause me to drift,” often times his thoughts are very drowning as he tries to make sense of them, as he continues to try to make sense of himself.

“I know and fear not, I shall keep ahold of you. No matter what, it’s you and I.” Rohanne speaks to him as she often does when he finds his thoughts too devastating to bare, kind and soft, as sweet as honey but with steel to make him focus on the here and now.

Viserys stares into her emerald eyes that are flecked with gold, his betrothed is a beauty, and he knows many men are jealous of him but it is not her looks that he likes most – it is the beauty of her soul he thinks.

Rohanne is as fierce as the Red Widow was said to be, she even wears her strawberry blonde curls into a long braid just like her namesake, but as fierce as she can be, she is also like a calming river, coursing down to soothe the fire that dwells within him.

“You and I,” is all he said as he grabbed her hands and placed a kiss on both of them, before he turned back to the sunset.

* * *

Viserys had been born a prince but he never wanted to be king, but he thinks that he was fated to be, the gods are strange in their will.

He knows that his sire had been ready to name him his heir when Rhaegar had stayed missing, and only the rebellion and Rhaegar leading the loyalist forces and their sire dying, allowed his brother to become king.

_I wonder if my life was already preordained, that this was the gods’ will after all._

Viserys dreams of different things, of a happy life with his mother, sister, Rohanne and the brothers he choose instead of the brother of his blood by his side.

Tyrion and Renly are his closest friends and confidants outside of his mother, he sees the way some people look at Tyrion as though he is a monster but Viserys knows what a true monster looks like, with crazed eyes that he had been too young to notice. Tyrion is smart, smarter than people are willing to admit but that’s alright because he’ll use that, he’ll put the kingdoms back together with his friend’s wit.

Renly on the other hand is kind and charismatic, his mother says Renly is like Lady Cassana in that regard. When they traveled to Oldtown to visit Tyrion’s good family, they met the Tyrells and he saw the love that had bloomed between Renly and Loras Tyrell. Renly thought that Viserys would be ashamed but who was Viserys to judge when his own family history is littered with madness and even at times debauchery given all the mistresses that some kings kept. No, his cousin accepted his apology as he admitted to the wrongs that House Targaryen committed against House Baratheon.

As he watches the Six Kingdoms, under lessons from not just Lord Tywin but also Ser Jaime, he takes council with Tyrion and Renly, he speaks with his mother and heeds her advice above all else; he takes care with Rohanne, honoring her as she should be honored not wanting another lady married into House Targaryen to be hurt like his own mother and Elia.

Everyday the promises he made as a boy stare in front of him as he looks at his reflection in the looking glass, trying to see where the years have gone as he takes in his appearance. His eyes are as calm as a frozen lake, he has long since learned to temper the dragon that dwells in him – lest he become as mad as his sire and mayhaps even Rhaegar, though his brother is more deluded than mad.

The Targaryens had arrived in Westeros and conquered it and near three hundred years later, that foundation had been cracked, allowing the rest of the realm to see how flawed and weak his house was because they no longer had dragons, no longer had the wits to see that they shouldn’t alienate their allies and family.

He doesn’t want to wake up one day and not recognize himself, not recognize the man he’s became. Who Viserys is now is part of the actions of others but also because of his own choices, a shadowy figure who watches the realm, not with hunger for power but with a drive to make it better because it’s the least he can do. There are so many wrongs to correct, so many people and things to heal because of the brutality of war and foolish decisions.

There is so much work to be done, so much work that he has been burdened with but when he thinks about his friends, of his mother and sister, of his betrothed he doesn’t find the task as arduous because he knows he’ll have help along the way.

Posted: 08/29/2020

Edited: 08/29/2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit, I've got a soft spot for Viserys. I often see when people do write fics of Rhaegar winning the rebellion, they keep Viserys, mainly the same reason as to why Aegon, Rhaenys and Elia have to die, in order to ensure the spotlight remains on Jon. I get it, and I detest so here is a Viserys that could have been, the Viserys I think that was there before he had been forced to sell his mother's crown.
> 
> This is a Viserys who has his mother, who knows the truth and see the truth for what it is and he's not happy with it. He's protective, fiercely so like a mama bear when it comes to his mother and Dany and I like to imagine that that aspect is a core aspect of Viserys pre-selling his mother's crown in canon. 
> 
> I think with any person, you was disillusioned for a time as he was hit with the truth and force to recognize that his father was a monster, that his brother made choices that have directly affected not just him but his mother and sister and the realm as whole. 
> 
> Viserys likes Aegon, as best as he can but he's weary because this is a Viserys who knows the truth of about his lineage and his house. So he's burdened with that responsibility not so unlike his canon counterpart.
> 
> When I was thinking about this chapter, I thought what could have been had Barristan left the Baratheons sooner, had taken a chance with Viserys and Dany while they were young. A Barristan who knew Aerys before, who fought in the War of the Ninepenny Kings, who was there after the Defiance of Duskendale, who could give testimony of Aerys treatment of Rhaella to both kids. It makes me wonder how Viserys could have turned out had he not been shouldered with so much responsibility alone. 
> 
> It then made me think about a parallel universe of the same thing happening, where maybe Aegon does die in canon but its Rhaenys who makes it out alive. Two journeys with both Viserys and Rhaenys at the forefront (I'm also a sucker for the ship) as they navigate the fallout of the destruction of their family.
> 
> I could write that fic, but so much sad shit happens in reality, I'm kind of out for angst lol. But yeah, sorry I'm rambling, I just really like exploring the pre canon Viserys, he seems so interesting. Well only one chapter left and I doubt it'll be longer than 4k words, and I'll try to have that posted before Wednesday. 
> 
> thanks for reading.


	33. Epilogue III: Elia of Dorne, Daughter of the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daughters and sons, nieces and nephews, Elia's life has been filled in abundance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Our lives are made,  
> in these small hours.  
> These little wonders,  
> these twists and turns of fate.  
> Time falls away.  
> But these small hours,  
> these small hours still remain."  
> -Little Wonders by Rob Thomas

Elia was lying in bed when she felt a pile of bodies descend upon her causing her to groan into her pillow.

“Wake up mama!” Her youngest son spoke in excitement and all he did was want to make his mother go back to sleep, she _had_ been having a very pleasant dream after all.

Her only response was a groan, because how was she supposed to get up when she had children that thought themselves monkeys, climbing all over her?

“Now, now, Dory. You have to get off of mama first, so she can get up.”

_Ah, thank the gods for elder siblings._

“Oh! Right, Dee.” Elia could feel the pressure off of her and she turned around, opening her eyes slowly before she turned towards the empty space next to her, her displeasure already known on her face.

_Of course, Mehmed would leave, right before they descended upon on me, the arse._

“Why are you all up so early? We do not leave until after we have broken our fasts. The ship will not sail without us, that I am sure of it.” Elia sat up against the headboard as she looked at all four of her children.

“You know what dede says mama, the early bird catches the worm first!” Doryn smiled at her, his dimples showing, and she couldn’t help herself but softly coo and poke them.

For all that she named her youngest son after her brothers, Doryn took after Oberyn more than Elia would care to admit. Her youngest son adored his uncle, and she knows for a fact that Oberyn has told him tells of all the pranks he did as a child which thus made her baby boy want to try them too.

Fortunately for her family, Elia had been an accomplice to Oberyn’s schemes and so she makes sure Doryn’s machinations never get too far out of hand.

Elia likes to think her mother is somewhere cackling in the afterlife, for all the trouble Elia and Oberyn caused together growing up, it seems to have turned against Elia in her youngest son.

“Your dede is a wise man, I do not doubt that, but I do doubt he meant this early in the morning,” Elia stretched out her limbs before beckoning her children close as she pressed a kiss to each of their foreheads.

“We just wanted to make sure you didn’t oversleep, mama.” Bayezid spoke, as he brushed a curl out of his face in annoyance. Elia smiled because it was the same tendril that Mehmed has that annoys him quite a bit.

“I am not like your Uncle Oberyn, I do not oversleep.” Because the gods knows how many times Oberyn oversleep and flat out ignored a summons from their mother which caused her to barge into his rooms to drag him out, halfway dressed or no.

“Come on you three, why don’t you find baba, I am sure he is at the training grounds.” Her eldest daughter offered, as Elia began to rise from her bed.

They would be sailing to Dorne in just a few hours, but it seems as though her youngest children are excited…as they always are when it comes to visiting her homeland. Her children adore all their cousins, no matter the distance in between them.

“Myriah, come here my sweet,” Elia beckons her daughter towards her as she guides her daughter to sit down in front of her vanity as she brushed her daughter’s curls, adding in braids to keep them away from her face.

Her daughter, her little sun – Deria – had been kind enough to send her sons away to their father.

“Go ahead my little star, go see to your brothers to make sure your baba’s hair has not turned grey.”

Elia shooed Myriah out of the room before she turned back towards her eldest daughter, who was now sitting on the bed she had just risen from.

“What is wrong, my love?”

Her daughter was fidgeting with the necklace Lee had gifted her for their betrothal before she stared and exhaled a deep breath and hopped up from the bed and began pacing around the room.

“Viserys wrote to me, he is happy with his bride and I am glad, but I feel nervous about seeing him again. All we’ve had are secrets letters, I wonder how much he’s changed, the words he write me show that he has grown but I wish I had been there to see it.”

_I wished for that too my love, but it was not meant to be._

“Oh Deria, it is quite alright to feel nervous. Jaime has written me plenty about the man Viserys has become and I think deep down, he is still the boy who taught you Valyrian and sneaked you sweets when he thought I wasn’t looking.”

Her daughter has learned life was not a song at such an early age, _both her and Viserys_ , and it has made her skeptical of those she comes into contact with. Wary of others who come near their family in the thought that they may hurt the people that she loves.

_So much like Oberyn, so much like papa, you are little sun._

It did not matter how old her darling got, she would always be her little sun, that spark of light that kept her from fearing the dark all those years ago.

“Of course, you are right mama. Mind over matter,” Deria shakes off her nerves and Elia can only laugh softly under her breath.

“Do not fret, my sweet. Whatever problems that may arise, we shall take care of it together, always.” Elia cups her daughter face, though her daughter is barely taller than her, she makes sure their eyes align before leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead like she does to all her children when they fret.

“Why don’t you find Lee, so that he may break his fast with us, I shall bathe and dress and be down when I finish.”

“Okay, mama.” Her daughter whispers under her breath before ducking out of her rooms and the only thing Elia can do is shake her head fondly as she begins to get dress for the day and journey ahead.

* * *

Their morning meal is loud, much louder than the normal as the children are excited for the voyage, especially the triplets who received permission from their mother, Lady Baozhai to come along with them.

It would be the first time the triplets would travel to Westeros and Elia could only pray that by the time they left Westeros for home, the realm wouldn’t be ablaze as they did so.

All the children left, wanting to head down to the ship with Mara and Mehmet who would be coming with them, wanting to see their grandchildren from Jade.

“You know, it’s not too late to change your mind and come along,” she speaks pressing herself into Mehmed's back as he looks out over the balcony that faces the gardens.

“I’ve already seen Westeros, or at least enough of it to be tired of it. No, I quite like staying home,” he answers back.

“Oh, you are tired of Dorne then?” Elia pulls her arms away from her husband and walks away, barely getting far before her arm is pulled back and her husband’s lips are pressed onto hers.

“I’ve not forgotten just who my wife is, Elia of Dorne.” He actually tutted at her which made her laugh before he pulled away and cupped her face, tracing her jawline.

“I have a gift for you,” he states before he moves around her and grabs a sealed box with the Han sigil carved into it.

“What is it?” She asks curiously, but Mehmed tuts at her again before sitting her down on their bed and sitting down next to her.

“Something I wish for you to open, only when you arrive in Dorne. I know you may be tempted but I want you to wait until you arrive in your homeland. Can you do that for me?”

Elia rolls her eyes, because there are times when Mehmed can ask her a simple question and stare at her as though her answer would decide if he would wage a war in her name.

_So serious, my husband._

“Yes, of course. I am your wife; you are my lord husband. I am supposed to obey you,” she sassed, and she watches in glee as her favorite smile was drawn across his face.

They both know that is a stretch of the truth because Mehmed rules his empire but Elia rules him and their family. There is no doubt about that to anyone who knows them, not that she is ashamed of that fact.

“Well if that’s the case, since I won’t be seeing you for two moons, I may as well enjoy the time we have together before you leave my sight.” His voice is deeper than it was just a minute before, and his hands are already on her gown, loosening the strings.

“I cannot be late to my own voyage, Mehmed.” Though her argument isn’t much when she tilts her neck to expose it to his mouth.

* * *

“Oh mama! I wish you and baba wouldn’t!” Deria hisses at her, her face red as she studies Elia, whose gown was hastily put back together when the time grew near for their departure.

“You will understand, in the years you grow with Lee, you will find that you won’t be able to get enough of him.”

Elia tries to justify herself but then feels silly for justifying herself to her daughter of all people.

“I don’t know who’s worse, you and baba, Uncle Oberyn and Aunt Jade or even nene and dede! If this is what it means to get old, then I don’t want to!” Her daughter rushes out of Elia’s cabin on the ship and Elia’s laughter follows her out.

* * *

“Come along, my little snake. Don’t you wish to ride with your mama?” Elia beckons Doryn closer to the sand steed that’s been offered to her.

“No, I want to ride on my own. I can do it.” Doryn shakes his head, his unbounded curls flying every which way and Elia sighs out in defeat.

 _As soon as they get past the age of five, they think they can do everything for themselves._ The thought wasn’t very comforting as Elia watched Mehmet guide Doryn to his own steed.

“There, there Elia. He thinks himself grown now but just remember who he’ll come to when he wants sweets tonight.” Her good mother soothed her, and Elia did find some comfort in that, as they rode towards Sunspear.

Even after all these years, Elia cannot help but look around Dorne in amazement, from the local bazars to the roads that had been laid. There was still more work to be done, of that there was no doubt but if Elia thought her Dorne was beautiful before, then now she looked even more spectacular.

The sound of water flowing through the canals was music to her ears, as she knows from Doran the latest stage of the canal development that is to stretch from the quarry just outside of the Shadow City to the Greenblood by Salt Shore.

As they make their way towards the palace, Elia takes a deep breath of air, sitting on her saddle as she basks in the sun of Dorne.

* * *

Sitting in her brother’s solar, she takes a hard look at both her brothers and wonders where the years went between them. There is no doubt that they are all getting old, but there is something beautiful about it when you can age with grace. Doran has silver hairs mixed into his black curls but if anything, he looks more handsome, more regal in the nature of the signs of a hardened ruler.

Oberyn still looks jovial, laying haphazardly onto his favorite chaise that Doran never removed from his solar no matter how much their brother complained about Oberyn sleeping while he worked. She can honestly say they all look at peace with one another and she is glad that while she lives far away in Moraq, her brothers are doing well on their own without her guiding hand and mediation between the two.

“Tell me when will Arianne marry Gerold? Ashara tells me the boy has already taken up the mantle as the next Sword of the Morning.” Elia states as she takes a sip of tea, mindful not to burn her tongue.

“Next year I believe, she wants to tour the Free Cities like I did and also visit Moraq since she hasn’t been able to for quite some time,” Doran stated as he peeled a blood orange.

Elia nodded her head, when she gave birth to the twins, Doran and Oberyn had both came, leaving their cousin Manfrey as castellan of Sunspear and they had come again when she gave birth to Doryn. That was a given, for they both wanted to hold the nephew that had been named in their honor.

“I am glad there is a Sword of the Morning amongst us again. I hear them call the boy, Darkstar. A fitting name, I think,” Oberyn speaks with one eye open, looking at Doran as he finished peeling the fruit. Her eldest brother rolled his eyes before offering a few slices to Oberyn who looked smug at the fact.

_Why he does that when there is a bowl of oranges right next to him, I’ll never know._

“I agree, it is good that Dawn choose another worthy of wielding it. How has our nephew, Lewyn been?” Elia asked in turn.

Given the age difference, it was just easier for their younger cousin to address them as aunt and uncle.

“He is fine, good with the spear and sword, just like his father. He will make a fine general one day, I know it,” Doran speaks soothingly but they all notice the somberness in his tone at the mention of their Uncle Lewyn.

“I will be riding down to the memorial wall later on this evening, I’ll be taking the children,” Elia throws out.

The memorial wall had been made just four years after she left for Moraq, it had taken time to collect and etch in the names of the fallen in the wall that had been made of fine glass and siyah from Moraq. There was a great statue down in the Shadow City of a Dornishmen with a whip and sword attached on his hips, with his spear being thrusted outward, as if to charge.

It was the place where everyone could pay their respects to the those who died during the rebellion and Elia couldn’t lie and not admit to feeling that residual bitterness at the death of all her countrymen.

It still hurt even after all these years and though the pain is much softer now, it was still there.

She liked to take her children to the memorial so that they knew their history, her history – Elia and Dorne’s – so that they never forget the lineage they come from, the blood that flows through them.

Elia knows that Deria especially likes to visit, to kneel down in front of it and pray as most are often to do for the departed souls of their country and kinsmen.

“We shall all go out together, as is the custom,” Doran spoke and there was no rebuttal to be had against it.

_Dorne has a long history and we do not forget._

* * *

Elia wonders how she can hear her own thoughts as she sits in the great hall, eating some marinated beef and carrots.

Everyone is at Sunspear, from all the Sandsnakes, to Oberyn and Jade’s youngest children, from Maron, Elia, Obella, Dorea and Loreza. The youngest snakes adored their elder siblings, especially Maron who attached himself onto Obara like she was his second mother, though Jade did not seem to mind, she was a busy woman after all.

Elia knows that Obara had helped train all her siblings, wanting to ensure that they could defend themselves and Elia had laughed herself silly because Deria had done and is doing the same with her own siblings.

_Protective elder siblings, a Martell’s signature if there ever was one outside of our eyes._

But for as loud as the hall is, she doesn’t mind it, not at all. Elia had thought her life would end early as Aerys kept her as a knife to Doran’s throat but sitting with her family, minus her husband she feels quite glad to be here.

She doesn’t talk, but simply enjoys in the ambiance of her family, reminding herself that she needs to open Mehmed’s gift, for it had slipped her mind.

* * *

If she were pregnant, she would be bawling out her eyes as she stares down at the crown in her trembling lap.

_Oh, that man, I could slap him and kiss him for this._

It’s a crown of gazanias, just like the one he had given her at the Tourney of Casterly Rock. Except the crown she had received then was made from fresh flowers, but this was made from pure gold, with fine attention being paid into every detail.

She is quite glad that she is alone in her rooms, as she picks up the handwritten note that lays underneath her crown. She recognizes the handwriting and she pulls it close to her nose, smelling her husband’s fragrance on the parchment.

 _That silly fool,_ she berates him with no malicious intent.

He may be silly at times, but he is her fool and she would have none other. Licking her lips, she opens the letter, reading the familiar script and she wonders why he wouldn’t let her open this while she had still been at home with him.

The letter, the letter is worth more to her than the crown and for all that it took her to finally admit to herself that she had loved Mehmed after they had gotten married, he had been quick to return her affections, with words and actions – but looking at the letter and the crown, she begins to understand why he wanted her to open it while it Dorne.

Her nerves are steeled as she begins to read the letter, her breath hitching:

* * *

_Elia,_

_You often told me, that of your childhood you enjoyed the Water Gardens the most. Not when you were a Princess of Dorne, but simply a daughter of Dorne, a daughter of the sun._

_I admit, I did not realize what you meant until you had the Sun Gardens built, where the children of Great Moraq can play with one another, where their status does not matter and they can make friendships that transcends time like the friendships you forged with your own ladies._

_You often told me you wondered what people thought of you, of what they saw in you and I can only pray to the gods that they see what I see._

_You are my wife, the mother of my children and of my empire, you hold my heart just as I hold yours. You are Elia of Dorne, the one the gods choose specifically for me, for all that I am stubborn._

_This crown is to showcase that you and I are bound by the gods, now and always, eternally._

_I shall look into the stars at night until you return,_

_Mehmed_

* * *

She doesn’t want to cry, but a few tears fall on the parchment before she can move it away and she lays down on her bed, holding the letter close to her chest, committing the words to her memory.

Elia does not regret the choices she made, choices that were made under duress or not, they all led her to Mehmed, and she doesn’t regret that. The children that she has, the three that had been unexpected when she had only prayed for one more after Deria. The mother and father she gained in Mara and Mehmet, that helped soothe the ache of her parents’ absence.

For all that she loss, she finds the gods have done well with finding an equilibrium to the gains she has made.

Mayhaps it’s the pain that she endured that makes this all the sweeter, all the more worth it and she finds herself frustrated that Mehmed is out of her reach for another moon and some weeks before she sees him again.

Stubborn man that he is, she is just as stubborn too.

* * *

Their arrival to Casterly Rock is hardly a spectacle, though she notices the rapid blinking at her children and the triplets. Deria walks by her side, while Bayezid, Mariah and Doryn walk in between their nene and dede, talking as they point out one thing or another. Liang, Xiang and Jiang are whispering amongst themselves and she hopes the Shadow Guards keep a close eye on her wayward cousins, who call her “Aunt Elia”, since the moment they met her all those years ago when she had been heavy with the twins.

“Ser Jaime, Lady Denyse, it is good to see you again,” Elia smiles, pressing a kiss to Jaime’s cheek before doing the same to Denyse.

As they stand in front of each other, Elia runs her eyes over Jaime’s children, a girl, Rohanne with strawberry blonde curls, braided down her back that could rival Elia’s own braid when she did hers in the same fashion. The boy, Tyland looks like Ser Jaime, but he has Lady Joanna’s eyes, from what Elia can recall about the former Lady Lannister.

Elia has read from Jaime’s letter that it was Rohanne that had thawed out Lord Tywin’s cold heart, for the girl adored her grandfather, especially his sideburns. Elia had laughed herself silly when Jaime had written her about it, how the girl would cry when Lord Tywin would have to return to King’s Landing, wanting her “grandpapa” to stay with her.

Granddaughters have a way of melting grandfathers and she only needed to look at the daughters in her family to see that with Mehmet. He was a fool for their ambitions, giving them what they wanted because he found it hard to say no.

“It is good to see you again, Elia. You look well. Though I am afraid you are missing a knight, I take it Ser Emmy did not come along for the visit?”

At that, there are multiple laughs that could be heard between the groups because no, Ser Emmy remained in Moraq with Mehmed. He had sired two litters, and Elia had been kind to send a kitten to little Tommen, Cersei’s youngest son that loved cats.

Apparently, no one believed the portrait she had sent of Ser Emmy when she got him, but she had received a letter from Cersei and Jaime both, wondering “what the hell” the kitten was. Oberyn thought it funny, the Lions of Lannister with bald cats, “Here Me Roar” indeed.

“No, he is minding my husband for me. All Ser Emmy likes to do now that he is old and sneak fish from the ponds in my gardens,” and he was quite sneaky when he did so too. Little misfit that he was.

“Come along, let us not freeze out here.” Jaime led them forward, as their conversation continued about misfit cats who use their baldness as a cover for their nutty behavior.

* * *

It’s the first time Elia is at Casterly Rock since she was there last time, it would be Deria’s first of being in Westeros and not just Dorne. Elia has made trips to Dorne since she first left when she wed, but her duties in Moraq did not allow her to stay in Dorne for long. Especially when her children were growing and she worried about them, if something untoward happened while they were out of Dorne and into the rest of Westeros.

But now that they are all older and Mehmed remained behind with Zaganos, she was able to carve out time to come see Viserys wed and to see Jaime again.

From Jade, Elia has heard enough about the royals to know that all is not well in their paradise and the hatred she once felt for them is nothing more than a needle, compared to the spear it once had been.

But a needle can still make a man bleed and so Elia is mindful as she makes her way around the tourney grounds.

The placement in the stands is almost like last time, with the Lannisters acting a buffer between the Martells and Hans and the Targaryens.

Elia had not been able to see Viserys before the tourney began, but she knows the prince is quite busy for more reason than one, as he shows his face to lords and ladies alike. But she had seen Rhaella in private for a few minutes and they had spoken in a rush, not wanting to be caught with so many people arriving at the tourney this time, with the Baratheons coming because of Ser Renly.

It gave Elia hope that Viserys could do what Rhaegar should have done, give the realm peace at last and heal fractured bones and bloodied wounds alike.

As she made her way up the stairs, she was glad she did not have to walk before Rhaegar or his leashed wolf.

She had taken care to dress in her husband’s colors, missing him more since she opened her gift from him. She wore a black gown, with a black fur cloak attached, that had gold silk embroidery etched throughout it. Her new crown sat atop her head, with her curls hanging freely against her fur cloak. Her pregnancies had not been harsh on her body, not like Deria’s had been and since she breast fed all her children, with minor help from a wet nurse; her breasts had remained bigger than what they were after Deria’s birth. Her curves were more prominent, and she knew Mehmed had taken a great liking to her body even more after her pregnancy than he did throughout and before, though that could be an understatement.

Having pregnancies not shrouded in prophecy, not shadowed by foolishness made for something great, as she had been allowed to relax and bask in the changes her body went through when new life had been created.

“I am glad to see that the weather wasn’t a detriment for people to come,” she spoke to Lady Denyse and Lady Cersei.

Elia wasn’t sure if she had a friendship with Cersei, but she understood the lioness and the lioness understood the sun. Denyse was a nice fit to Jaime but there was no doubt that Cersei and Elia both had their own doubts about the woman until she had proved herself to be suitable to Jaime. Elia had Cersei’s sparce letters as confirmation to Jaime’s own, and so Elia had been mindful to see her knight’s wife received gifts on her namedays.

“Does it not get cold much in Moraq?” Lady Denyse asked curiously.

“It gets cold, I’ll admit to that, but there is hardly any snow, thank the gods.” At that, both ladies nodded their heads in agreement. Elia has only seen snow once or twice and she found it boring to look at after a while.

“Your children are beautiful,” Lady Cersei comments and she spoke just loud enough for her voice to carry.

_Still petty, aren’t you Cersei?_

Elia chuckled under her breath as she looked at her children, Bayezid and Myriah had Doryn sandwich in between them, who thus was sandwich by their dede and nene.

“Yes, they are indeed, my Bayezid and Myriah are a good mixture of Mehmed and I, but where Deria takes after me in looks, Doryn is the reflection of his father. Though he seems to have his uncle’s dimples and mischievous,” even now, Elia will bemoan that fact.

“Same as my Joffrey, he’s made fast friends with his Marbrand cousins and likes to lead them, sometimes into trouble.”

“That sounds like Doryn, his dimples can fool those who are not known to him, he’s like his cousin, Tyene in that regard. Catches bees easier with honey than vinegar, that one.”

Elia shakes her head, thinking of all the broken vases and mysterious disappearance of one thing or another that could not be found with Doryn being the sole suspect.

“I wish I could say Ro gave me no trouble, but between her father and grandfather she’s a spoiled thing. Even Tyrion and my brother Baelor are helpless to say no to her,” Lady Denyse admits this as though it is some terrible crime and Elia laughs out loud.

Elia is just about to say something when she notices the triplets trying to sneak off, “and where do you think you three are going?”

Her eyes piercing them on the spot, but they all wear a mask of innocence though they are not fooling anyone in their party, especially Elia. She has seen the aftermath of their pranks one time too many to be fooled by such.

_Even worse that Doryn adores his cousins, thinking them so witty with their schemes. The triplets were bad enough on their own but listening to tales of the Red Viper has only made them more eager to get up to no good. Mama always said Oberyn leaves trouble in his wake, even without trying._

“Nowhere, Aunt Elia,” they answered in sync.

“Oh? Doesn’t seem that way to me,” she regards them with more scrutiny.

“We just wanted to take a look around,” Liang says before Jiang and Xiang add on, “yes, what he said!”

“Off you three, I should hope that if I see smoke in the air, it won’t be from you,” Elia lets them go, knowing if she keeps them here then there is a chance there will be smoke in the stands instead.

As they walk past her, they plant a kiss on her cheek, “Thanks Aunt Elia!” before shuffling down the stairs and disappearing.

Elia looks around to one of her guards, nodding her head for him to follow her rowdy boys. Last thing she needs is Lord Tywin or any lord really to be sending her an invoice over her nephews' misdeeds.

“I had thought I would get grey hairs from my children, but I see now that they shall give them to me,” she grumbles under her breath.

Elia can hear some chuckles from the ladies next to her, but her eyes widen as Deria walks toward her, her face alight and her eyes sparkling.

“Where have you been little sun?” Elia has her suspicions when her daughter snuck off earlier.

“Just walked around the grounds, wanting to see what was selling at the stalls. I saw Lord Tyrion and Ser Renly, quite charming they are, just like you said.” Deria looks at her, offering her a dimpled smile before sitting down, she notices how her daughter glanced into the Targaryen section as her smile faltered and she turned her head towards her nene instead.

_So, she met Viserys, that’s good._

Elia offers her daughter a soothing hand upon her back, as she knows her daughter must have seen Rhaegar and that was what took her smile away.

_He took many smiles away at Harrenhal, what’s another?_

* * *

“Look mama! That’s the prince!” Doryn is sitting next to Elia, his eyes wide as he takes in the sight of Viserys rushing towards his opponent with his lance.

“I see, my love. Who do you think will win?” Elia combs her hands through his curls, admiring the teak color he inherited from his father.

“The prince, he knows how to ride well, see the way he grips the reigns but loosens his legs when he goes in for a hit?”

Elia laughs, “You are like your cousin, Elia, the Lady Lance. She is half horse, or so your aunt says.”

Doryn had a healthy fascination with horseflesh and he liked spending time with his elder cousin, Elia when she tended to her steeds.

“Hn! Baba says I shall have a new steed waiting when we get back, so that I can ride it at the Silver Festival.” Her son seemed dazed at the prospect of a new steed, and Elia couldn’t blame him for it. Over the years there’s been special care with the breeding of Dornish sand steeds with Moraqi steeds; it has created a fine breed of horses and makes quite the income for Great Moraq and Dorne.

“Oh, welcome back Liang, Xiang, Jiang.” Deria spoke, as she was drawn out of her conversation with her grandmother.

All three of the boys looked arrogantly pleased and Elia had half a mind to put them on their ship and send them back to Dorne, because the smiles they were wearing were _too_ much like Mehmed’s when he did something viciously pleasing.

“Please, tell me you weren’t creeping around, causing trouble.”

All at once, seven voices answered, “it isn’t creeping around if no one knows you’re doing it!”

Her children and nephews took those words as their motto for excusing their mischief and Elia only stared blankly at them as she heard laughing from Jaime.

“Sit,” she hisses at them.

Mehmet just laughs, patting them on the back, his eyes twinkling, and she rolled her eyes.

“You know, it’s a good thing they have no aspirations for the throne. Can you imagine that? Outside of us, who would ever know that there was three of them? They could play sultan for the day and no one would be the wiser, I bet.”

It wasn’t a far-off speculation because the boys had done something like that at the imperial academy, which drove their teachers insane.

“We would never endanger our empire, aunt you know that.” Xiang clutched at his chest; fake shock written all over.

“I don’t seem to recall that when you three went to Yi Ti last year.”

Now at this, Deria laughed, “I thought baba would flog you three to death and that was before your mama would get to you.”

“It wasn’t our fault Princess Wei couldn’t tell us apart!” All three defended themselves and Deria snickered again, causing Elia’s scowl to falter.

Elia could remember the look of irritation on Mehmed's face when Bu Gai sent the three of them back to Moraq, making claims of them trying to spoil his daughter, which was why Bu Gai had been looking for a groom for his daughter since.

Elia could say that she could tell them apart, but the only thing that would cause is for them to begin dressing alike again in order to fool their family.

“Look!” Doryn yells out, just in time to for her to see Viserys knock Ser Leto Lannister off his horse, thus winning him the crown of yellow primroses.

The crowd grew quiet as Viserys took off his helm, he jumped down from his horse and walked over to Ser Leto, offering him a hand and even an easy smile, words passed between the two which made both men laugh before Viserys got back onto his horse.

Elia is clapping, but Deria seems to be clapping louder.

_She always did love Viserys, she thought it nice to have an uncle of age with her._

Viserys stirs his steed over to them, as he only has eyes for his betrothed and Rohanne Lannister is not shy about the attention as she stands just over the wooden railing.

“Lady Rohanne Lannister, I name you my Queen of Love and Beauty.” His voice had gotten deeper from the soft one she knew from when he was a child.

_He has grown up to be a fine young man, Rhaella must be so proud._

* * *

It is later in the evening, when Elia is walking down the corridor towards the great hall for the evening meal with her children and her two Shadow Guards did she come across Rhaegar and his queen, walking with Ser Barristan and Ser Arthur.

Her children and herself have changed out of the clothes they wore at the tourney and bathed so that they could be dressed finely for dinner.

Elia can see the way Arthur eyes her children, especially Bayezid and Doryn and Elia narrows her eyes when she sees Rhaegar doing the same thing.

She can practically hear what he is thinking, “they should be mine.” _But they aren’t and I would not have given them to **you** either way. _

No one says anything she can see other nobles out of the corners of her eye, obviously watching but Elia won’t be cowed. _I bet he thinks this is some sort of betrayal, that I gave Mehmed three children, twins even when Pycelle claimed me barren._

She wonders if the people watching think this is the gods’ justice, for my marriage had been broken but I received a new one and had been blessed with boons in abundance for the pain I had been party to.

“If you will excuse us,” it is Deria who speaks and her daughter stares at Rhaegar with dead eyes. She doesn’t want her daughter to look like that, to look like the way she herself looked when she was Aerys’ good daughter as he lauded insults at her.

“Yes, let us get going, my loves. I am sure you are quite hungry, your nene and dede are waiting.”

Doryn’s hand is in one of hers, while Bayezid is escorting both his sisters, as a gentleman should.

Elia didn’t speak but she had no words for any of them, not to Rhaegar, not to his queen, not to his knights. Whatever words of hatred and anger she did have died the last time she was here.

When they are far enough away, Doryn asks, “who were those people? Why were they looking at us like that mama?”

“Baba says they’re non-factors, they don’t mean anything to us Doryn, so put it out of your head.” Deria instructs her youngest brother, but Doryn looks up to Elia for confirmation, “your sister is right my love, they matter not.”

Her children do not know that Deria is not of their father’s loins, but Elia doubts that would matter either way, or that they would care, because they all adore Deria, hanging onto her word as though it was the law of their empire.

“Okay, Dee. Let’s go, I’m hungry, can I get sweets mama?”

“Whatever you want, Dory.” She huffs out a breath of air, thankful that her most perspective son has decided to drop the manner, as she would rather not have to explain her history and time in Westeros. Her children know songs do not exist, but there is no need to make them as troubled as Deria had been when she learned the truth about her mother and sire.

* * *

It wouldn’t until be later in the night, when her daughters and sons were asleep, would Elia leave her rooms in the shadow of the night to head to Jaime’s solar with two guards at her back.

A rapid knock was all she needed before she was ushered in the room with her guards and she saw Viserys standing before her looking nervous, completely different from the gallant man she saw charging just earlier at the tourney.

They looked at one another, onyx meeting pale-lilac and Elia opened her arms just as she did when she last hugged Viserys and he walked into her embrace, hugging her closely but this time he did not cry, not like that the boy of before did.

“Oh, you have grown to be a beautiful prince, and I know you shall be a beautiful king. Let me look at you, please?”

She cupped his face as she did with all her children, with all her nieces and nephews and cousins.

“You are a credit to your mother, truly you are Viserys. I am so proud of you. I kept every letter from Jaime, detailing your youth and squiring.”

Elia can hear the ragged breath Viserys draws in before he falls to his knees and Elia steps back into shock, “what are you doing?”

She reaches to pull him up, but he remains kneeling, “I come to offer an apology on the behalf of House Targaryen to House Nymeros Martell for the wrongs committed three and ten years ago.”

_Oh, you sweet boy._

“Viserys, look at me, look at me.” Elia bends down and pulls the prince up, though he helps her with this.

“I did not need an apology from your mother, and I do not need nor want one from you. Tell me, what wrongs have you committed against me? What vows did you give before the gods and to me? Hm? A Targaryen you may be, but you are not your sire, you are not your brother. Remember what I said about not letting yourself be burdened, all those years ago?”

“I remember, I made a vow, I made a promise. I kept faith, I stayed true.” In the silence of the solar, she pulls Viserys down onto the cushioned lounge seats.

“Yes, I know you did. I know Jaime knighted you when you were six and ten because you showed all the tenets of what a true knight represents. I know your mother is proud of you, she spoke so highly of you earlier. You take such good care of her and your sister, yes? As a good brother should. Do not apologize for actions that were not your own, that is what my husband has taught me. Those actions are not yours to answer nor atone to.”

_You must be like I and let it go._

“But everywhere I turn, I see the mistakes that were made. I see the scars on my mother. In the capital my brother rages because his heads of the dragons are not born, him and Lyanna fight like cats and dogs and each day I fear I’ve come to hate my own brother, like I do our sire.”

_But do you not see how much better you are then them both? Would Rhaegar or Aerys ever deign to step, to kneel so lowly as to apologize? No, never._

“You are allowed to feel what you feel Viserys, and no one can take that from you. Not I, not your mother, not brother and not the gods. Use it, Viserys, use that hatred, use that anger to be better, to do better, to ensure that your house does not fall any lower than what your brother and sire allowed it to. I once told you to be as astute as your namesake, you must be Viserys, lest this world be cruel to you in return.”

It was the same fear Elia had when she let Deria go to her province and begin to rule, because it had been hard to let her little sun go, but every sun deserves to rise.

“Unburden yourself Viserys, lest you fall into madness like others.”

_Just like Deria he had been burdened too early, the load has been heavy upon his shoulders and he does not even wear the crown yet._

“I will, I will,” Viserys finally speaks after moments of silence.

“Good, never let yourself get like this again Viserys, I mean it. You cannot function in this manner; I know because I went through the same thing. You must build yourself up stronger, let those you care about in and keep going.”

It hurts Elia that her meetings with Rhaella and Viserys have to be done in secret, lest people use Elia against Viserys or whisper words into Rhaegar’s ear and something happens to Rhaella and Viserys.

“We must go, I fear what will happen should we remain any longer, but look at me,” Elia grabs his face again, “I am proud of you, so proud of you.” Just like she did when he was a young boy, she pressed a kiss to his forehead, humming in the back of her throat as she took in his face, _you are your mother’s son, kind and dutiful. What a fine king, you shall make._

* * *

“Mama,” Elia is startled by the sound of her daughter’s voice as she slips into her rooms.

“Deria, you scared me,” though she knows her guards would not have let in anyone else but of her relation, seeing her daughter sitting on the chaise next to the roaring fire.

“I apologize, I just…it’s very hard, doing this. I do not know how you did it.”

Elia takes off her cloak and sits down next to her daughter, it does not take long for her daughter’s head to be in her lap and Elia running her fingers through her daughter’s black curls.

“Patience and perseverance. They would whisper behind my back and I just had to remind myself of who I was, Elia of Dorne. It kept me grounded, along with you.”

“I saw the way they looked at us, it was like they didn’t see _us_ only what we represented. Because even now, after so many died…it all comes down to that prophecy…and I hate it even now. I know baba says he doesn’t matter but…it still hurts, mama.”

_So many broken hearts, because of a dusty tome and few words._

“It’s okay to hurt, that wasn’t your path to walk just like it wasn’t mine,” Elia says in comfort.

“If you could, would you do it all differently? When I’m with Lee, I can’t help but wonder would I have found him if this had all happened differently. He so good to me, but sometimes I still feel like I’m not good enough, because I wasn’t good enough to be his daughter, to be his princess.”

“I felt the same way with your baba, kept doubting myself unsure if what I was doing was right. But I took a leap of blind faith, knowing the man that Mehmed is, I knew he’d be there in the end. Yes, if I could, I would do it all differently, because this pain we carry, I suspect it will always be there, latent and faded but there nonetheless.” 

“I miss baba, I miss home. I miss Lee.” Her daughter’s voice hasn’t sounded this broken since she was a young girl and it pains her to know how quickly her daughter has had to grow up and not by her own means.

* * *

Elia has been to too many weddings, really, she has and while she is happy for Viserys getting married to the bride he loves, she is most eager to return to her husband’s arms.

Nonetheless when Viserys kisses his bride, she claps and smiles anyway, knowing that she is looking at the future King and Queen Consort of the Six Kingdoms.

* * *

“Are you alright?” Mehmet asks her as she is leaning on the deck of the ship, watching the waves.

“I am missing my husband, I find myself most restless to be back home, where I belong.”

_I belong at his side, just as he belongs at mine. I do not like to be far from him. I wonder if this is how mama felt when papa died, did this dull pain afflict her as it does me? If I knew it would help, I would paddle this ship back towards the Jade Sea myself._

“That is understandable, love is like that or at least true love is. That pull you feel when they are far and are near is indescribable.”

“The Rhoynar believe in soulmates, it is the belief that Mother Rhoyne and the Old Men decide who our partners are and bless them with us, for when we return to our Mother, we shall be reunited not just in life but in death with them. My mama and papa were soulmates.”

She’ll always be haunted at the anguish cries her mother let out when her father had died. It seems like a heavy cost, to love someone so deeply and to have a portion of yourself gone when that person leaves your side.

“Sometimes that pain is worth to bear,” Her good father’s eyes are far off and Elia guesses he is thinking about his two paramours that he took to sire children with. She inwardly flinches at the pain; she can understand Mehmet and Mara’s decision, but it wasn’t one Elia would have made for herself.

“Yes, sometimes,” is all she said.

She thinks that when she does return home, she’ll have a new ring crafted for Mehmed, since the only jewelry he wears are the wedding band she gave him and his siyah ring, for the Shadow Guard. A new ring in response for the new crown he gifted her, she thinks her husband will like it.

Elia herself stares down at the pearl ring on her finger, tracing the vines that are curled around it in protection, keeping it in place in the center, _so alike we are, this pearl and I._

No lies had been spoken to her daughter when she said she would do things differently, but as she hears her children come onto the deck, their laughter, and giggles, she is of like mind with her good father about bearing the pain. Sometimes the pain is truly worth it, when you think the horrors on one side are black and insidious, you only need to turn it over to see all the glory and vindication on the reverse.

Posted: 08/23/2020

Edited: 08/23/2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's all folks!
> 
> I was just thinking about Rhaenys and Viserys and I immediately thought of Rhaenyra and Daemon and just imagining what that would be like, if Rhaenys and Aegon were Dornish to the bone and wanted to install absolute primogeniture, so that Rhaenys inherits the throne and it would be like Dance of the Dragons again versus Jon and his allies. Or just a 2.0 version of Rhaenyra and Daemon where Rhaenys and Viserys are married and just doing what they want when they want because fuck you pay me that's why? Ugh, I wrote this plot bunny down lmao.
> 
> I was talking to Nanso and I may make this au into a short fic of no more than like 10 chapters. I'll be writing it in Word and then posting it all at once so I won't be bothered by the time between the uploads.

**Author's Note:**

> Elia Martell's theme  
> Window by The Album Leaf.
> 
> Pinterest for 'A Shadowed Path' : https://pin.it/dvNyCk5
> 
> Check out this collection, that features Dorne/House Martell/Elia Martell centric fics!  
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SouthernRenaissance

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Children of the Western Sun](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23991874) by [wingsofthenight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingsofthenight/pseuds/wingsofthenight)
  * [dead ladies club](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25390480) by [masochisticmasturbation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/masochisticmasturbation/pseuds/masochisticmasturbation)




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